


Man in Twilight

by binz, shiplizard



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Depression, Gen, Homecoming, Lazy is just an alolan word for 'executive dysfunction', New Beginnings, Po Town is what happens when you try to gentrify an island whose god is not about gentrification, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Sad cop babysits all the children, Team Skull are adorable failboats, UltraBeasts, imposture syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 93,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/binz/pseuds/binz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiplizard/pseuds/shiplizard
Summary: It's about ten years before the events of Sun and Moon, and freshly-retired Agent 000 has just come home to Ula'ula.He's still having nightmares about the encounter with UB Glutton. He's exhausted all the time and convinced more than ever that he's a failure and a fraud. The island of his childhood has changed while he was away, too-- his home town is half deserted, there's a strange new Foundation in town, and there's something unnatural lurking on the black sand beach under the ruined Megamart.But that's not his problem anymore. He's retired.Right?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS: For the Sun and Moon postgame Ultrabeast missions. 
> 
> So, with two more chapters in the bank and ...three to go? we're going to be shooting for a once-weekly update schedule. We're going off of game canon as much as possible, but mistakes can be and likely have been made. 
> 
> Poor Nanu; a textbook case of depression in a world where most people are astonishingly well adjusted. But we like to think that the world of pokemon has room for everyone in it-- just because they lack the words to talk about mental illness doesn't mean there's no support for it.

He'd used to go to Malie City with his parents, as a kid. He'd liked it then. It smelt different, sounded different, almost always meant something new from a shop or the community centre market. It was loud, bustling-- at least to a kid used to genteel gated living. It had felt like a huge place, full of people and life.

Now it felt like nothing.

There was ground under his feet; there was the static that multiple voices became when they all spoke at once; there was humid heat that thickened the air around him and made it that much harder to take each breath. He moved through it like a robot, the way he'd moved through Headquarters, through the airport. He answered the people around him only out of habit-- rote responses, coming slow and staticky off of old reels of tape in his head.

At HQ, the tape had spit out phrases like 'another few weeks' or 'two more days' and 'I'll keep busy'; he'd gotten used to that. In the airport it had been curt phrases read off his plane ticket-- 'gate 7'. Or, when the friendly ticket agent saw his badge and asked, breathless, if he was really-?, he stared blankly at the young man until his brain finally turned up the phrase 'retired'.

Now he had to change it up and there was a long empty greyness in his head every time before he found the words-- 'alola', 'alola', 'how's your aunty'.

He kept his gaze on the middle distance and put one foot in front of the other, and he didn't feel the sun as much as he felt it sliding off his skin without leaving warmth; he didn't smell the flowers and the salt and the incense and wok-fried food as much as record them, make a note that he knew the scents without finding any meaning in them.

When he got to the little hotel, they were waiting for him. The motel clerk looked up and straightened her back as soon as he walked through the door, and a dull alarm kicked up in the back of his brain, but there was no urgency to it.

He knew the wariness he should have felt, knew the jolt as his muscle memory fired, tried its best to get him alert and ready. It was the same brace for action he'd once felt in Kanto, where he and his partner had been tasked with digging out the little pockets of Team Rocket before they could take root and grow into a stranglehold again-- back then he'd thought he had plenty to worry about. The job did that to you, Put you on alert for traps and gunfire when anything out of the ordinary happened. It hadn’t taken long before he'd learnt not to let it show.

But now the reaction was distant and the edges were all worn off it; he didn't even have to try not go on the alert, to keep his body relaxed and loose and not let any tenseness show. Even if there had been a real emergency, he just didn't think he had the energy.

"Hello, officer!" the clerk said, hurrying forward to meet him.

Gray, fuzzy silence. The tape in his brain kicked in. "Retired."

"Of course. I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry, sir--"

That was two 'I'm sorry's' in a row. Crisis-level customer service. Maybe they'd lost his luggage.

"What?" he grunted.

"Your room was accidentally double-booked for tonight-- we're sorting it out, but it will take another day at least. If you're willing to sleep in the dorms at the Pokémon Center overnight the hotel will happily give you an upgrade here for the remainder of your stay-- or if you don't mind heading over to Akala island, we could transfer you to the Hano Grand over this evening, we've been in contact and they'd be happy to honor your booking. You can stay one night, or for the remainder of your booking-- we would of course transfer the items you shipped here, free of charge. They said it would be a privilege to host someone who's given your years of service. I realize that both of these options are inconvenient and we want to do our very best to make it right--"

He blinked at the barrage of words, grasping after the bullet points. It was a simple choice, two options, shouldn't be stalling him out, shouldn't be so immense and impossible-- but it did, it was.

"--The ferry won't be making another run today, and it says you aren't registered in the ride call system, but we can do that at the desk right now," she went on.

It felt like he was walking into a wall. Whatever happened he was going to have to put his bag down, and sleep, and then pick his bag up and do today or something like today all over again, and just imagining it had him so exhausted he couldn't think straight.

"Anything else? Here?"

"Not in Malie City, but if you mean on Ula'ula... there's the motel on the southern coast, but--"

"S'fine. I'm tired."

The distress showed all over the clerk's face. "Sir, are you sure? We'd like to make sure that your accommodations meet our standards of--"

"I'm tired," he repeated. "It works. If Interpol wants to contact me, tell them I’m staying there."

"It's not a convenient location-- you'd have to get all the way over Blush Mountain," she said, gesturing like she could point the mountain out through the hotel wall.

"Lift still work?"

"...Yes, but if you'll at least let me register you for the ride call you'll be able to get there and anywhere else so much more conveniently, including to the Hano Grand, there are multiple pools and direct shore access--"

"I’ll take the lift."

"Sir, are you sure? You look exhausted, I could--”

But he already had his bag in his hand, moving, one foot in front of the other because the alternative was falling on his face.

The clerk called after him, urgently-- "I'll transfer your things-- Sir, we are so, so sorry about this--"

"S'fine."

He still knew the way to the lift station. Malie wasn't a big city at all, no matter what he'd thought when he was a stupid kid, there was barely room to get lost. He bought an overpriced ticket from a friendly but less-chatty young man more interested in his television than in conversation, and stood waiting for one of the cars.

As a kid he'd always wanted to ride the lift: sleek and new, advertised as the best and only way to commute from Malie up to the power plant. Bright silver cylinders on a silver wire-- like oversized pokeballs for humans. Never had made the trip. Then he'd left the island altogether, gone bigger and better places-- he’d even taken the cable car up Mt. Chimney in Hoenn.

The salt air had been at work on the lift while he was away; everything had its layer of rust, and there was a little graveyard of scrapped cable cars surrounded by a fence behind the ticket office. Another five years like that and it'd be done for, he thought. Another ten and if nobody repaired it, the forest would swallow the support pillars and you'd never know it had been there.

The old-spring creak of the cable car made it out from behind the trees before the car itself did. It limped after its sound, striped with corrosion, its windows dingy. He boarded it without joy or disappointment; whatever he'd wanted when he was young, all he needed now was to keep moving.

There were only a few seats without cracks in the upholstery, and they were all the way across the car. Not worth the bother. He sat down heavily, bag in his lap, and waited until the car started to move again, grinding back up the slope, vibrating so hard it made his teeth rattle.

It shook the last of the coherent thought out of his head. The next time he took stock of himself, consciously, he was walking in twilight. He'd gotten off the car and started down the road from the power plant on foot, though he might as well have used Teleport for all he remembered the last hour.

One foot in front of another, because otherwise he would fall. What was keeping him from just grinding to a stop-? Not a desire to keep going, because his reserves of that were bone dry.

He'd forgotten how fast night fell here. By the time he got in sight of the hotel it was past dusk and into full dark, a waning moon doing more to obscure the road with shadows than to illuminate it.

It was a familiar darkness, pulled at memories from deep in his childhood, so old and worn into the shape of him that they were barely there at all. Maybe he should have felt something, anything for the way the sea and the flowers and the long dry grass smelt, but his memories were as empty and distant as everything else about him. However disarming the voice of nostalgia, it was ineffective on a husk.

No streetlights here; nobody built here. Not since there'd been a real village down this coast. There'd been a Megamart around here once-- not for long. They’d talked about looping the highway up the long rough coast, all the way up to the city. Nothing left of that now but a few jagged stretches of asphalt, and a lingering, whispered reverence for the Tapu.

The only light was alive. Sometimes there was a spark in the darkness accompanied by the squawk of an elekid sparring with a greedy togedamaru-- or the angry, shrill war cry of a togedamaru fending off an even more ambitious sandile. Toward the valley there were moonlight glints off of dark lenses, here and there the ruddy red lights of little brushfires-- torkoals burning dead scrub into charcoal. Off to the west there were flashes of color, little shooting-star streaks of light against the shadowy slopes of the larger mountains.

It was probably pretty scenic, if you gave a damn.

By the time he saw the wan porchlights of the motel he felt like he'd been walking for a month, but somehow the last hundred feet, closer and closer to civilization, were the hardest. He'd have to boot up the tape reel again, talk to a human being, set down his bag, unpack, figure out food, contact HQ--

His brain sputtered to a stop, blinking and dying under the load of his future.

Too much.

He climbed the stairs up to the motel’s little porch, pushed open the office door because it was in front of him.

The manager looked up from his magazine and said something that didn't make it all the way to his brain, but the manager was already reaching for a key so the tape reel had time to start up again, he had time to start listening again.

The manager's voice drifted in and out of focus like a distant radio channel. "--surprised when we got the call but we sure do hope you have a good stay, Officer--"

Agent, actually. And not that mattered anymore either.

"Retired," crackled the tape reel out through his mouth, and he took the key with a nod.

"Well I can see you're tired so--"

Whatever that had to do with anything was lost as the radio station tuned out again, and he blinked and he was out on the porch and he blinked again and he was sitting on a hard mattress in the dark.

So this was his destination. He'd wondered, sort of, if he had one. But this was where he'd been going, and now he'd gotten there, and it was as good as anything. No reason to go any further.

With nothing driving him forward anymore, he let his bag slip to the floor; his boots were too heavy, so he pushed them off, and then lifted his weightless legs into bed and lay fully dressed on top of the blanket, staring into the gloom. His eyes had adjusted but there was nothing to see; he lay awake and watched nothing, until he fell asleep and dreamt of a darkness eating up the island bite by bite.

* * *

He woke up in a clammy sweat, not sure where he was. There’d been a noise-- it reminded him of Castelia City, the inland dive he’d spent a month staking out near the subway. The trains came at all hours-- an irregular, inescapable roar that shook the floor and rattled the hinges. The faint light filtering through the heavy curtains was almost the right shade of muddy grey.

For about fifteen seconds he was convinced he must be in Castelia City. It was a pretty good fifteen seconds.

Then he remembered.

Not Castelia City.

His shirt was sticking to his skin; he made a convulsive effort to get the buttons open and shrug out of it, but he only managed to get about halfway out of one sleeve before he decided it was more trouble than it was worth. Rolling over was more successful; it eased the ache in his legs a little, and it faced him away from the early sunlight.

He could still feel the nightmares at the edge of his mind; he’d have to try not to fall asleep too quickly. Maybe watch some television? ...Nah, all infomercials and malasada ads this time of the morning.

A low rumble started, just on the edge of hearing, and before he could convince himself he was imagining it, it was loud enough to drown out his breathing, and then loud enough to feel in his teeth, and then the bed rattled with it. Not a train. His mind flailed around for a word just out of reach. A sound, a groan, a… voice.

He rolled out of bed in one decisive movement, staggered to his feet-- the world tilted around his ears, bright spots in his vision-- and he half-walked, half-fell toward the door, fumbling it open.

Outside the wan porchlights made halos in a thick fog-- a mountain fog, the kind you didn’t get in the dry lowland. Even the room number of the room next door was indistinct. It wasn’t quite day; the way the fog had sealed in and reflected the porchlights had tricked him into thinking the light was more golden than blue.

It was too quiet. Even this early it shouldn’t have been this quiet. Especially not this early. More of his sleep-stupor fell away as some of that trained wariness he hadn’t been able to find yesterday stirred. There should have been all sorts of sounds, fletchling and pikipek competing for berries and territory and the Alola’s Most Irritating Flying Type prize, cutiefly and oricorio peeping as they hunted for nectar, yungoose waking up and shaking the undergrowth, the early surf on the night-smoothed sand.

But there was none of that, just the soft, barely-there presence of sound, so muffled that the world sounded like his heart beating at night, like the leaf buds on trees slowly unfurling in the sunlight.

He felt movement; honed senses picked it up, delivered it to a sleepy useless brain that slowly digested the knowledge that there was something close beside him.

“LooooOOOO?”

He turned his head.

Well, there it was. Hulking but hanging weightless, an unfamiliar but unmistakable dark, muscular form with brutal hooves and horns and a heavy forehead, wearing its wooden ceremonial armor on its head as lightly as a straw hat. It was the only clear thing, glowing faintly with a light whiter and clearer than a dingy light bulb could provide. The unsociable guardian god of Ula’ula island itself, waiting for him outside a cheap motel room.

Tapu Bulu lowed again.

After a few moments-- needed the time for his teeth to stop rattling-- he said: “If you’re looking for a battle, you came to the wrong guy.”

“Bulooo.” Like ancient trees creaking, and also somehow unmistakably a disagreement.

“All my partners were career IPD. I’m flat out of pokémon.”

“Booooh.”

Which sounded a little like: ‘Yes. So?’

“I don’t know what you want. I can’t help you.” They must know that. Tapu Fini must have seen how the IPD had failed-- how he’d failed. Seemed like the kind of need-to-know information the Tapu would pass around, if they talked to each other. “I can’t help anyone.”

The Tapu waited, silent.

“Is that why you’re here? Because of what happened?”

“Loh.” An agreement, and not an agreement.

He was too tired to guess; too tired for puzzles. His lips felt like they were cracking-- he realized suddenly how thirsty he was, how hot, how hungry, how much every day was going to be like this for the rest of his life and how little he could do to stop the days from coming. Hs legs almost gave out.

“I’m going back to bed.”

“Bulu!”

A ball of light appeared between him and the door-- a little ball of blinding sun that died away and left a dull, reflective chunk of something hanging mid-air. Frowning, he reached out for it. It seemed to be embedded in the air, stuck fast-- until suddenly it wasn’t. It dropped like a stone, slapping into his palm.

Not just like a stone; that’s what it was, a rough crystal about the size of a large marble or an inert pokeball.

He dropped it into the pocket of his shirt, and dropped his shirt on the floor as soon as he was back inside with the door dead-bolted behind him, and then he crawled into bed and curled up with his back to the window and slept again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> S here-- B injected some sanity and suggested some chapter divides that were less ponderously far apart, so we're going to have some number of shorter chapters instead of six long ones. And that said, here's chapter 2!

Housekeeping knocks sounded the same one region to the next-- there was just something particularly invasive about them. The cadence, maybe. The knowledge that the space you were sleeping in wasn’t really your own, that to whomever was on the other side of that knock, you were a hurdle to be negotiated so they could do their job. As long as doing you in wasn’t their job.

He’d been ambushed by people disguised as housekeeping before. He was out of bed and on his feet before he remembered why he was in a motel at all.

Not on assignment. Permanently off assignment. He shook his head sharply, trying to sift reality from dreams-- trying to shake off the flashes of darkness and fog and old gods that his subconscious had served up for him, some jetlagged manifestation of his half-hearted guilt at being so lukewarm about his own homecoming. He had to focus on the here and now. If he were still in the field somebody would have taken him out by now, out of pity. He was useless like this.

“Sir, are you awake?” a woman’s voice chirped.

“Yeah. Help you?” he rasped.

“Your luggage was transferred from Malie City. We’ve got it right outside.”

“Give me a second.”

He shot a glance through the corner of the curtains before he risked the peephole-- although a hint of suspicious behavior might actually have been preferable to the unarmed, untrained, smiling woman standing next to a pile of what was identifiably his own luggage.

An attempted hit he could deal with. At worst his retirement would end with a bang, not a long crackling greyness.

It was creeping back in at the edges already, the static. That dream about the Tapu last night must have left him more restless than he thought. He used to be able to cope with less sleep. Hah. He used to be able to cope, period.

He swung open the door.

“Alola!” It pitched up a little on the second syllable as the woman got a good look at him, a double-take she tried valiantly to hide.

“Alola.” He squinted against the brightness of the day, cloudless and radiant. Sunscreen. Have to get sunscreen, he told himself, adding it to the long, long list of things he’d have to get off his ass and do at some point.

“Dad says you’re a police officer. That’s exciting! I’ve never met an international police officer before.”

Not that she knew of, he didn’t correct her. So she was the manager’s daughter. He filed that away.

“I’m Alani,” she went on, trying to make up for her earlier misstep. “It’s a real privilege to meet you, officer--”

“I’m retired.” He lifted a hand to stop her, let it fall back to his side. “No ‘officer.’ Just Nanu.”

“Nanu…” She gave him another look, frowning. “That’s an Alolan name. You’re not-- are you-?”

“Yeah. Born and raised. My family lived in Po Town, until my folks retired.”

“Oh.” She blinked at that. “Hey, good climate if you don’t like the sun.” She realized what that sounded like and started to stammer, syllables tripping over themselves.

He grunted his forgiveness; he knew what he looked like. Too pale, strange red eyes, hair that had been a lifeless dead-grass grey even before age started to make its mark. He hadn’t been born for the sun. Yet here he was. “Been a while.”

“Sure. Sorry. Sure. Your folks-- doing good?”

“Yeah. They live in Sinnoh now. Dad’s people are from Sinnoh. They sold off the house and all.”  The tape recorder that had been talking for him had slowed down a notch. It was taking on that island drawl he tried so hard to shed as a fresh young agent in the IPD.

“But you like it here, yeah?”

“It’s home.” He shrugged. “Didn’t know where else to go.”

“Yeah, well, nowhere’s as nice as Alola,” she opined, and he’d eat his wallet if she’d ever been off the islands. ...She wasn’t wrong, though. Best region in the world, and he could actually speak from experience.

Theoretically, he was back in paradise. He just couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t even feel happy to be home, but that was him all over-- couldn’t sit in the sunshine, couldn’t feel how good it all was here, too damn lazy to make himself act like a normal person. Just a slipshod failure who’d fooled everyone into thinking he knew what he was doing right up until it was too late.

And still nobody had caught on. The top brass said his team had done well in a bad situation. Poor naive 100KR blamed himself for the fiasco, instead of the partner who should have stepped in, who really deserved the blame.

Maintaining the illusion of competence was exhausting, and having people still believe in him after he'd finally given up was somehow even more so.

He scraped his fingers through his hair; oily, needed a shower, shower sounded like a lot of work, probably making the poor girl think that all Interpol agents were crazy and bad at hygiene, needed to stop staring past her shoulder at nothing, needed to take his bags, needed to act like a functional human.

"It's good to be home," he finally said. It was a lie, but it was the right lie, because the young woman nodded firmly and gave him a reassuring smile.

"You don't have any sunscreen up at the desk, do you?" he remembered.

"Oh yeah su-- ooh, no, sorry, we had some tourists come through and now we're out," she corrected herself. "I'll make sure to get some next time I head into--"

"It's okay. Don't bother about it."

She bristled at the interruption, but he ignored it, reaching down to pick up his bags and haul them in. Not light bags, but for all his worldly possessions they sure didn't feel all that heavy.

"Thanks. For the bags. Let me--"

"No, don't," she objected, but he ignored that too, patting his pockets. Wallet. Wallet? Left it in his shirt. Shirt? On the floor; must have thrown it off last night. He dropped his bags against the wall and picked it up, pulling out his wallet. Something clattered to the floor, of course it did; things were just falling apart and falling down and he'd deal with it in a second, dammit--

"Offi-- sir-- I really shouldn't take--"

He shook a pair of two-hundred-P coins out into his palm and thrust them at her; since she didn't have it in her to be as rude as he was, she had to accept them. He shut the door on her protests and tossed his wallet onto the bed behind him, What was he-? Right, he'd dropped something.

He took a step back to look for it, and wound up stepping on it, bare foot coming down heavily on a small hard shape. It dug in sharply, making him grunt and wince and hop awkwardly, and when he reached down to pick it up, a little chill of unease slid through the cotton-guard apathy that surrounded his mind.

It was the stone from his dream-- the dream with the Tapu, the impossible highland fog. The room was lit only with dingy second-hand sunlight, filtered through the curtains, and the stone sparkled more brightly than it had any right to.

He'd dreamt about putting it in his shirt pocket.

But he'd also dreamt that the Tapu had appeared to him, realer than real, the wood-grain on its ceremonial shell warped and ancient. He'd dreamt that he'd heard it-- not just the wind howling off Lanakila that his parents always used to tell him was the Tapu bellowing, but the actual voice of the actual guardian of Ula'ula.

He was no atheist; he believed in the deities of the islands. Believed in them enough to be sure that they wouldn't have come to a man who'd abandoned the islands for a wider more exciting world and then come limping back defeated.

So there was some other explanation, and if he gave a rattata's rear end he could figure it out, but... really, he didn't. It was just a rock, and he didn't care.

There was an ashtray by the television; he dropped the enigmatic stone into it and turned his attention to unpacking.

It didn’t amount to much at all, in the end. Two uniforms; a dress uniform; a few sets of nondescript civilian clothes that were unfortunately made for a more temperate climate. One trench coat that made you anonymous in most of urban Unova and the fashionable parts of Kalos and would stick you out like a sore thumb in any part of Alola. Changes of skivvies. A few pairs of socks. His pair of slightly-more-formal work boots, the ones that could at least take a polish. He re-folded the clothes, set them next to himself on the bed, and started to sort through the eccentric collection of personal effects.

Clutter; it was just clutter, and that practicality told him he didn't need any of it-- his medals and certificates were pretty but useless. He didn't need the assortment of knick-knacks and tokens he'd carried with him: the few desk toys he'd had for the occasions he'd actually been at a desk, a snowglobe wishing him _Welcome to Snowbelle City_ , a novelty keychain from the fun-fair in Vertress, a faded beanbag ‘ultraball’ toy.

Practicality said to throw the clutter away. Anxious superstition said that if he did, he'd be betraying old confidences-- the people and memories that gave worth to what were nearly worthless items. He might lose hold of the memories themselves.

And if he threw it all away, then what? It could all fit in a shoebox, except for his bigger certificates, and it was all that he had. And wasn’t that the truly sad thing of it all. He should have been building something, working toward something, instead of just working.

But he'd always been too lazy to look his future in the face. He'd always just gone plodding ahead to whatever task was in front of him without wondering where that would take him.

Suddenly exhausted, he pushed his luggage aside and folded down onto the bed. His eyes were starting to sting with weariness, and his chest felt tight, as if there weren't enough oxygen in the stuffy, dark little room. He was tired; bad dreams and bad awakenings, and if he could just sleep maybe he could push past this. If he could just get enough sleep he'd be able to function again.

He just--

He shoved a pair of khakis out from under him and sagged against the mattress, body surrendering to the need to be horizontal. In the evening he'd head back into the city and buy groceries, sunscreen. It would be a nice walk, he'd get things back in order, he'd register for the damn ride system. But later. Not now. Just-- not now.

In the corner of his eye, the curtain over the bathroom door fluttered on a faint puff of air, and if he'd left the window in there cracked that was an unforgivable failure in security, but he was just too tired to care. He just-- needed to sleep.

* * *

When he woke up the quality of the light and the temperature of the air had changed, and there was something cool, round, and plastic resting against his cheek.

He patted for it clumsily, lifting it up and holding it in front of his face until his eyes focused enough to recognize it as a miniature shampoo bottle. It had probably come from the bathroom, but how it had gotten out here....

Something shifted on the bed, a shadow moving among shadows, and he looked blearily past his hand.

There was a meowth curled up on his folded dress jacket, cleaning itself unconcernedly.

For a second he couldn't figure out why it looked so strange, and then realized that he was coming at it backwards: it was the first one he'd seen in years that didn't look strange at all. It was a proper meowth, not one of the scrappy little toasted-marshmallow normal-types you got in other regions, but the kind he'd grown up with. Dark-type, gray fur, equal parts entitlement and disdain.

That explained a couple of things; meowth got everywhere, regarded human ownership of property as an amusing but harmless fantasy, and a lot of them had a tendency to pick up the oddest damn things and leave them in even odder places. Like bottles of shampoo, apparently. Or random stones buried in other people's shirts.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was in your room," he rasped. "Am I in your way?"

It began to preen its tail with a regal air, unaffected by the sarcasm of a lesser being.

“This goes in the bathroom, by the way.” He brandished the bottle at it.

It paused, sniffed the air, and its lips curled back over its teeth.

...He was being judged on his personal hygiene by something that washed itself in its own spit.

“I don’t have to sit here and take this from you.” It slanted him a glance. He tossed the bottle away onto the wrinkled covers and rolled over. “I can lie here.”

A moment later the bottle smacked into the back of his head, hard.

“ _Son_ of a--” Ow. A meowth couldn’t learn Fling, but apparently that wasn’t going to stop this one from demonstrating its opinion. That was going to smart for a while. “Fine.” He was awake anyway. And it looked like night was falling outside so he might as well actually have a shower. It’d been… what, nearly forty-eight hours? And he was still in his clothes from the plane. It wasn’t that he couldn’t feel the grime and sweat, just that he’d gotten resigned to feeling like a sligoo had rolled over him, and all right, the damn pokémon had a point.

“Fine,” he said again, so it knew he’d gotten the memo, and palmed the bottle. No need to leave ammunition where the little bastard could get its claws on it.

“Mrrrp,” the meowth responded smugly.

He dragged himself into the curtained bathroom. His joints ached, and pissing had that telltale burn of dehydration. He’d have given a junior agent hell for getting into this condition. He splashed water on his face, took a few tepid mouthfuls out of his cupped hands, and then sloughed off his clothes and stepped into the shower, turning the knobs at random.

And then stifled a shout, fumbling the hot water tap on.

He flattened his palms against the wall, panting as the water warmed up. Well, that was a success, he’d found the edge of his apathy, and it involved cold water. Who knew you could freeze a cotton guard off.

He felt almost human again, standing in the spray. As he poured shampoo into his palm and clawed it through his hair he let himself wonder if all he'd needed was a cold shower to snap out of it. Serve him right if he'd let things fall apart because he was too lazy to practice basic hygiene.

...But no, he'd taken plenty of showers, cold and otherwise, between the start of his decline and the day he knew he had to retire. There wasn't any cure for this. He'd have welcomed one, as he felt his career slipping away, as he sleepwalked through his assignments and started to let the paperwork go and realized that if he kept going like this, he'd only get someone else killed.

At least for the time being he felt functional enough to be a retiree.

He turned off the shower as soon as he was clean; he was an island boy and he knew that water was a blessing. Plentiful, but not inevitable. It was good just to stand and let himself drip, to feel clean and awake again.

A shadow darted past the frosted glass door, and there was a soft clatter-- he poked his head out and noted for the first time that the bathroom window had wooden shutters on the outside face instead of a screen, and that one of them was hanging loose. There wasn't much space, but enough for a small pokémon to squeeze through-- even for a meowth, the little bastards were more fluff and less mass than you thought.

He also noticed, as the steam dissipated, an unmistakable acrid smell rising-- and there were dark stains on the clothes he'd left on the floor.

"I'm going to wring your little neck next time I see you," he told the window conversationally.

He'd been planning to wear those clothes again while he did laundry-- disgusting, but efficient. It appeared that his judgmental guest had had other ideas.

He wiped himself half-dry with a faded motel towel and plodded into the bedroom, flipping on just the wan light near the door. That was plenty enough light to sort through his sparse civilian wardrobe, pulling out a pair of khakis that were stained and a little too large, and a tee-shirt that didn't smell too stale. The rest of the clothes he divided into piles-- the ones he couldn't wear, the ones he could wear after he washed them, the ones that he could wear now.

There were spare trash bags folded over the rim of the wastebin; he bagged up his urine-streaked traveling clothes, dropped the rest of the wash pile on top of them, and strolled out barefoot into the evening.

...Hell, but it smelled like home.

He'd been too locked in himself last night to notice it-- he'd felt it, but his mind hadn't done anything about it-- but it smelled like home. Not his childhood house, it wasn't damp enough for that, but like evenings after school when he'd wander down the hill and walk alone on the beach, seriously assigning himself little stakeouts-- mapping wimpod dens and wingull nests, counting how many crabrawler would sidle up casually to a given berry tree, recording which one emerged victorious in the resulting scuffle.

But it wasn’t all homely. There was the smell of rot on the breeze, too-- that low-tide stink.

They'd lost Esperanza on a warm night like this, on an island not too far from this one.

"Nyah." A sharp sound from near his feet shook him out of his increasingly unhappy reverie.

He looked down; a meowth-- no, the same meowth, he was fairly sure-- was waiting for him, something tucked to its chest with one paw.

Without ceremony, it held the object out and then dropped it on his foot.

"If I was wearing my boots I'd kick you into next week," he told it.

It gave him a slow blink.

He was pretty sure it understood him perfectly-- even wild pokémon picked up human language fast-- and he was completely sure that if it did understand him, it didn't believe him, or care.

He bent down to pick up the little white packet with bad grace-- a pack of laundry soap, as it turned out-- then turned his back on the meowth deliberately.  When he looked back, the creature was gone.

He found the laundry area around back of the motel; two battered old washing machines and one dryer on a concrete stoop, nothing but a corrugated tin awning to keep them from the sky. You couldn't even call it a laundry room. Nowhere else he'd ever been put things right in the open like that; nowhere else you could trust the weather to cooperate for years at a time.

There was already a load in one of the machines, and a man wearing swim trunks and a contented look was propped up against the side of it. Objectively attractive; very fit, very tanned, body had that corded muscle you got by spending more time in the water than out of it, but Nanu had always preferred his men slightly more clear-headed and reeking much less of pot.

The man had a joint in one hand that he made no attempt to hide; the other hand was dipping in and out of a bag of roasted pokébeans which he ate absently, with a break to share one or two with the rattata beside him. The dark-type rattatta, the proper kind. At some point, being back on his home island had to stop taking him by surprise.

"Alola, cousin," the other said, saluting Nanu with his joint. "Nice evening. You want some-?" He squinted, then giggled. "Aue, you already had some! Burned your eyes."

"Just my natural good looks," Nanu said wryly. The man was harmless enough; irritating, but a little irritation was better than the soft numbness. He barely felt like he was talking off a tape reel anymore; sarcasm was familiar to him, anchored him into his body. "Keep an eye on your partner. You know there's feral meowth all over."

"Oh, he's not mine. He's himself's. Just sharing the evening," the swimmer said. "He wants my beans. He can't have any." He paused. "All right. You can have just one," he said, offering the bag. The rattata took a dried snack between two paws, all innocence.

"That's the fourth one you've given him," Nanu pointed out.

The rattata chittered at him, bushy whiskers bristling in affront-- and that definitely translated into 'narc' or something just like it.

"Oh ya, really?" The swimmer peered into the bag, apparently surprised by what he saw. "Oh shit. You got me, bra!"

He offered a solemn palm to the rattatta, who looked at him suspiciously, and then patted it with its paw.

"Down low!" The swimmer burst into another round of giggles, and gave the pokémon another bean.

Nanu felt his mouth turn up, just at the corner; stupidity must be catching. "How much is it for the machines?"

"Oh, nah, nothing.” The other man waved at the coin slots on the machines. “Those broke a while back. You can give them a tip at the counter. An' they sell laundry powder if you forgot it. 100-P."

"Got some."

"Ah, good," the swimmer told him sagely. "Yeah it's good. You staying ‘round here?"

"Yeah. You?"

"I'm from the camp past the ridge. Lot of us do laundry here. Takes a while but iss' nice. Oh, don't use the dryer, though. Be here all night. Clothes line is better."

"I'll keep it in mind." It was only a half-hearted attempt to shut off the conversation; the other man could probably keep going with or without anyone else's participation.

"No, it's better. It isn't foggy like last night much," the swimmer assured him, "It's never foggy like last night."

"...There was fog last night?"

Discomfort prickled up his back. It didn't mean anything; even here the forecast could change, that was all. Might even have been a startled pokémon; there were any half a dozen species around here who could put up a mist when they were threatened.

The swimmer fed his friend another bean. "Bad fog like we never get. Must've blown off the mountain. Didn't feel any wind, but I heard plenty," he said. "Big noise off Lanakila. Big wind. My folks used to call it--"

"The voice of the Tapu. Mine too."

There'd been a wind and it'd become part of his dream, he told himself, and he'd be a damn fool to believe anything else. He loaded the second machine with his clothes, glaring at it as if were responsible the tension starting to wrap around his chest.

"Yo..."

"Yes?" Nanu said, crisply.

"You a cop?"

Oh, now he noticed. Quick on the draw, this one. Liepard-fast reflexes.

"Not anymore."

"Shit, that was close." The swimmer nodded, as if Nanu's retirement had been a near miss, and closed his eyes. "No, that wasn't what I was gonna ask. No... yo."

"What."

"You think... the wind sounds different on the other islands? 'Cause Tapu Koko wouldn't sound the same as Tapu Bulu," the other man mused.

The rattata looked up at Nanu, and rolled its eyes. He gave a tiny nod back: it was a lot to put up with for a little dinner.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, more to the rattata than to the man slumped against the washing machine. He didn’t have the pokémon’s patience for this. Hopefully the other man would have left by the time he came back to rescue his clothes.

"Yeah... you be careful in the tall grass now," the swimmer slurred.

It was kindly meant; just irritating as hell. "...Thanks," Nanu said, insincerely.

The rattata extracted another bean from the packet that was now slipping from the swimmer's hand, and held it up toward him. It struck him as oddly kind; rattata were single-minded about their food. It went into their stomachs or it went back to their big colonies. And him a narc and everything.

"Thanks," he said, this time more sincerely, and shook his head. The rattata shoved the bean into its cheek, unoffended. "Watch out for those meowth."


	3. Bad times/Good food.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories are hard. Self care is hard. Cats are okay.

Nanu left the swimmer, the rattatta, and the smell of hot cotton and washing powder to the dark night, making a wide circle around the hotel.  
   
His head was starting to ache. Some of that was that he needed to drink more than a few gulps of water; a lot of it was the pot and the company. He was out of reach of the latter two problems now; he just had to do something about the first. There was nobody behind the desk when he stepped into the motel office, but there was a vending machine full of drinks, and that's what he needed.  
  
He was so thirsty that the fresh water almost hurt his stomach-- he nursed it as he strolled barefoot into the night, along the rutted road and over the grass, off toward old familiar pastures. There was a Pokémon Center not too far off where they’d have something to eat for late travellers.  
   
...Or for night-dwelling little boys who were out past their curfew and didn’t want to risk going to the Po Town Pokémon Center lest they be reported by the friendly but too-local Nurse Joy. He and his friends had eaten more than one meal there while the late-shift nurse checked over their pokémon and her comfey drifted back and forth with bandages and burn cream for little human hurts.  
   
They’d been so young, so sure of themselves, thought they were so discreet. Just innocent youths out for a walk. The nurse had pretended to be fooled, never mentioned the black sand they’d tracked in or the occasional shivering child who needed an antidote and a cocoa to shake off a too-close ghostly touch.  
   
She’d understood what his parents hadn’t: telling kids to stay out of the Thrifty Megamart would only send them sneaking in all the quicker. She’d tucked repels into their backpacks when they weren’t looking and slipped them cleanse tags when she returned their pokéballs, and let them go try their luck with the ghosts again.  
   
Dead grass and warm earth turned to sand between his toes: his feet had carried him to the beach without any input from his brain. Red sand, from the desert and the sandstone cliffs, not the black volcanic beach under the Megamart-- but he could cut across under the bluff and avoid being seen from the road. With the tide going out, you could get almost all the way to Tapu Village before you had to either climb back up to the road or start swimming.  
   
...He really had been a little truant, hadn’t he? Studying stealth tactics out of books and mapping secret routes and fooling absolutely nobody.  
   
The sea breeze swept in over him as he walked, barefoot in the sand-- he’d always had good night vision, but he barely needed the moonlight to navigate tonight. His whole body remembered this coast. He could have found his way by how the surf sounded on the shore and the smell of the flowers blooming in the grass on the bluff.  
   
There was the faint gleam of firelight from over the bluff, but the roar of the ocean and the wind drowned out any distant noise. It drowned out the static; it buffeted the thoughts out of his head. He felt… clean. The moonlight reflected on the waves and the lumineon glowed back from beneath them, and for this brief peaceful period life didn’t feel so much like a death march.  
   
The shadow of the ridge that bordered the beach fell over him too soon; he had to engage his brain again, climb the steep bluff back up to the road.  
   
Not something you wanted to do barefoot, but that’d be his own fault for coming out without shoes. He didn’t have the energy to turn back, so he went forward, scraping his hands on rough stones and using hanks of grass and exposed roots as footholds as he clambered up.  
   
Yeah, he remembered doing this, too. Washing the mud off of his knees in the Pokémon Center restroom, trying to get the scuffs and stains off of his trainers with damp toilet paper and desperation so that his parents wouldn’t know what he’d been up to-- if his mother had ever found out he slipped out at night, her rage would have rivaled the Tapu’s, let alone if she found out he used to sneak out to the ruined Megamart….  
   
In front of him, the road twisted through the bones of Tapu Village, marking the middle path between the crumbling walls and exposed foundations. His trained eye quickly picked out the signs that said it wasn’t entirely abandoned-- the divots of sleeping bags in the grass, fresher graffiti -- but there were no frightened kids braving the ruin tonight, unless they were good enough to escape the notice of an Interpol agent. In which case, they had a lucrative career ahead of them in law enforcement. Or crime.  
   
Heh.  
   
A new smell cut in: that low tide stink, stronger on this side of the ridge. That unmistakable whiff of rotting seaweed and the slimy foam of big breakers.  
   
His goal was in eyeshot, whitewashed and well lit, emblazoned with the universal symbol of a Pokémon Center. But if he veered off to the left-- just for a moment-- he could see the Megamart, the beach, the wreckage of the old Pokémon Center out in the water.  
   
He wondered if the kids still dared each other other to climb the old road and up to the Megamart. Surely they did. All the spooks would be lonely without stupid kids to terrify.  
  
The smell of low-tide got thicker as he got closer to the beach, worsening until he had to pull his shirt over his nose to keep the stench out of his lungs. He picked his way across the pitted, cracked concrete of the ruined highway, stopping by the guard rail to look out at the black sand--  
   
He stopped, blinking in the darkness. For a few long seconds his brain tried to convince his eyes that they were seeing something they weren’t. It was dark out, and the beach was dark like it was supposed to be, volcanic and glistening where the moonlight caught it. Just black sand, wet and oddly shaped by the tide, no matter the stink and shapes and shadows-- but there was barely any sand to see.  
   
He took in the tangled, stinking mass that had entirely engulfed the beach. It was dead seaweed, it had to be. But there was just so _much_ of it, and there was something out in the middle of it all, a wooden wreck, snapped boards jutting into the moonlight like teeth.  
  
"What the hell?" he muttered into the cloth over his face, and immediately regretted opening his mouth.  
  
It looked wrong, more wrong the longer he looked. Oh, sure, storms blew seaweed in, and it stunk worse than an alley full of trubbish on a summer’s day when they did, you got that everywhere, but there were plenty of disgusting things that loved rot and grime. And it shouldn't have been still. The Megamart shouldn't have been blank and still-- there should have been creepy shadows, flickering lights, not emptiness. That mess on the beach should have been alive with scavengers and things that ate scavengers-- he should have been able to see the bustle of busy wimpods and the slick backs of goomy digesting who knows what, there should have been waiting murkrow along the fencing and a few grimer contentedly breaking down the wreck.  
  
Instead, stillness. And the stink, so powerful it seemed to even block the wind off the sea.  
  
It hadn't ever been like this when he was a kid.  
  
He'd have liked to feel sad, but all he could muster up was resignation.  
  
A noise he'd been hearing in the background suddenly shot into the foreground of his perception-- the sound of footsteps turning deliberately toward him. Largeish. Adult human, almost definitely.  
  
The wide beam of a flashlight raked across his back, threw his shadow out over the mess on the beach.  
  
"Sir? You aren't thinking of going down there, are you?"  
  
The brisk, authoritative tone was another of those universal things-- this was security or local law, and he was already mentally preparing for the tedious jurisdiction squabble as he turned, and then (with a sense of rare relief) he remembered that he wasn't here on business and nobody had to piss on anyone else's berry tree to prove who the top cop was.  
  
"Officer," he said mildly. It was half a guess-- the bright light was playing hell with his night vision and the other man was a dark blur with a few light blotches that could have been police insignia or the copycat camouflage of a private security company. Which nobody'd ever had the money or inclination to bring down to the coast before, but everything about Ula'ula seemed to have changed in the years he'd been gone.  
  
His guess was right, though; as his vision adjusted he could make out the official Alolan police uniform, and then the worried face of the officer-- Nanu's age, possibly a little more, belt tight over a slight belly, sleeves tight over muscular arms.  
  
"That beach isn't safe."  
  
"I wasn't going to go tip-toeing through the sludge," he assured the other man.  
  
"You wouldn't be the first sightseer who tried it. A storm like this throws up a lot of trash, and you could hurt yourself--"  
  
"I was born on this island," Nanu pointed out mildly. "I know a little better."  
  
"You're the Interpol agent?" A slight frown.  
  
Nanu stifled a sigh. News got around quickly. That hadn't changed, at least. "Retired."  
  
The policeman smiled; probably relieved that he wouldn't have to do the jurisdiction-two-step himself. "Welcome back to Ula'ula. Where are you staying?"  
  
"Motel up the way, for the time being."  
  
"Don't you have family around here?"  
  
He shook his head. "My folks left for Sinnoh. Sold the house in Po Town. My pension from Interpol's all right, but it's not enough to buy back property up there."  
  
"...Must have been a while ago your folks moved," the police officer said, and there was that serious frown between his dark eyebrows again. "You haven't been back up to see your old place?"  
  
"Hadn't gotten that far. Something I don’t know about? Don't tell me the Tapu flattened it." Nanu asked, one of his own eyebrows lifting.  
  
The policeman chuckled awkwardly. "No, nothing like that. Just got run down. I guess it happens."  
  
When he was a kid there'd been a small dedicated army of landscapers and maintenance workers to make sure it didn't happen, actually. But everything changed.  
  
Speaking of which. "What happened to the beach down there? Used to be nothing but black sand and old buildings. I spent hours out there."  
  
"Well-- the wreck, that was around the new year. Tourists. They ignored the buoys, came in too close-- wrecked themselves on the ruins. Poor kids," he added, flicking his hand into a horned shape so absently Nanu wondered if he even knew he was doing it. It'd been years since he'd seen an invocation to any of the guardian pokémon. Like the dark-type meowth and rattatta, it was so familiar it left him feeling jangled.  
  
"They went aground in all that mess?"  
  
"No."  
  
Oddly hesitant, that. "What happened?"  
  
"Ah. You know. The wreck was underwater until the storm. A few months back." The police officer paused. "It was a bad storm. It hit all the islands pretty hard."  
  
A chill shot through him. "How many months? Exactly."  
  
"Not too long after the wreck. Six, seven months ago. It was a new moon. The waves were high, the tide was high too- that's what moved the wreck in to shore, tossed up all the seaweed too."  
  
That was too long. The seaweed should have dried or rotted down. The sea should have taken it back. This wasn't the natural order of things. He knew, with a horrible certainty, exactly what that storm had been.  
  
"It stormed for a week straight. They shut down the shopping mall on Melemele and didn’t tell anyone why.”  
  
"Yeah. That’s what happened." The policeman shot him a surprised look, an unasked question hanging between them.  
  
It went unanswered. Nanu was locked inside his own brain, watching it all happen again through the grey haze.  
  
Seventh months ago the air had torn open over Alola, and the storm it caused had been the very least of the trouble.  
  
He remembered the date. He remembered the weather. He remembered the way the sky had looked, twisting like air over hot pavement, warping and sprouting holes like paper over a flame. He remembered the sense of irritation-- civilian consultants had their place but it wasn't on missions like this, and he and KR had to be saddled with--  
  
"You hear about that, over at Interpol?"  
  
There was a plea in the policeman's voice-- well-concealed but unmistakable threads of hope and fear.  
  
"I heard about it." He was there for it. The storm had raged outside while they were scrapping desperately in the darkened mall on Melemele; it had raised steam as they sweated and swore and tried not to die inside the caves of Wela Volcano; it had pounded the boats of the evacuating Seafolk Villagers as they fled their island, leaving behind the Interpol agents on the shore, just them and--  
   
The static in his head grew louder, back from wherever it had blown away to on his walk. He wrenched himself away from the thought.  
   
There’d been storms. Short story: storms. Ula’ula had been spared the real horror, but the island had still taken the brunt of the weather.  
  
"The ghosts started disappearing around then, too," the policeman pushed, maybe seeing a crack to wedge open in his silence. "The Megamart went quiet overnight. My poor nephew, his drifloon got blown off in the storm, we never did find it. Seems strange, doesn't it? The way it's so quiet? You think Interpol would be interested?"  
  
Maybe. Probably not. Interpol didn't always care about the damage they left in their wake, he thought, and realized the heat he felt twisting like a knife through his chest was fury and self-loathing.  
  
"I can't help you," he said. His voice was thick; he could barely force it out of his throat. "You should give them a call. Tell them what you know. I'm retired."  
  
"But--"  
  
"Evening, Officer."  
  
His ears were ringing. That was a funny thing. He could feel his heart working, blood pushing up thick with every beat, in his neck and his ears and his temple. ...He should have made himself go for food, he was probably one good push from collapsing. It was the heat and the smell, he just had to ride it out.  
  
He was heading toward the Pokémon Center, but the fluorescent lights cast an aura in his vision that spelled an oncoming migraine-- he couldn’t go inside, not yet, there’d be people in there, there’d be voices and movement, just-- he needed a second. He slipped around the back of the building instead, into a dark shadow bordered on three sides by thick brush, the steep slope of the foothills, and the corrugated metal siding of the Pokémon Center.  
   
He went to sit down, but his legs gave up the job about halfway and he crashed back against the building, sliding painfully along the metal siding, tailbone landing hard on the ground. His face felt numb, and when he touched it his fingers were cold and trembling.  
  
What a damn coward. What a damn lazy coward. What a useless piece of garbage he was being.  
   
   
He hadn't even liked Esperanza.  
   
There was no reason that remembering her death should break him like this. He hadn’t even liked her!  
   
Other agents had, certainly. Him, he'd always resented civilian consultants, because they got paid better and less was asked of them, and she hadn't much liked him either for all the obvious reasons (all the charm and grace of a moulting fearow, she'd told him once) and they'd gotten along with a stiff professionalism when they weren't being openly nasty to each other.  
  
That hadn’t meant he’d wanted to see her die.  
   
It wasn’t KR’s fault-- poor fool thought it was, but he hadn’t known any better. Nanu had. He should never have let it happen. Should have put a stop to it when he understood why Interpol paired them up with this particular civilian. Instead he’d gone along with it, because it was the job in front of him. Because he'd never really bothered to fight with his superiors on things; he'd more or less given them what they wanted, to the letter, until they realized that what they wanted was stupid.  
  
That was fine with paperwork, but it wasn't fine with a human life and Interpol had treated it all like one and the same, his reports being improperly formatted being no more and no less important than a woman dying halfway through her last scream, consumed so completely that there was nothing for the funeral, not a shred of a once-living being, just an empty, greedy darkness that had no right to exist in this world.  
   
Lucky thing that they’d found that waterlogged girl washed up on the sand, wasn’t it. One Faller might have died, but here was another one to slot right in like a cog into a machine. He’d accepted that, coldly, because he’d never had any illusions about being more than a cog himself.  
   
Wasn’t until weeks later that the nightmares started. Started and didn’t stop. Got so he didn’t want to sleep because he knew he’d wake up hearing that last cut-off scream ringing in his ears. Was it Esperanza screaming? The new girl? KR? Purr? Scrafty? Croagunk? Himself? Pick one. Pick five. The Ultra Beast loomed up in front of him every time he slept too deeply, insatiable and unkillable.  
   
What the hell was wrong with him? He’d handled it like a hardened veteran and then after it was long over he’d started grinding to a stop, losing sleep, losing his edge over some too-late attack of conscience. He’d thought leaving the force would settle the nightmares and the horrible grey nothingness down but it’d done the opposite, and now he found himself wishing he had his routine back or at least the security of 100KR’s backup and the reassuring weight of his partners’ pokéballs at his belt. Too late. He’d made a decision out of pure lazy selfishness and it had been wrong and now he had to live with that.  
   
He should never have been put in charge of his own life, let alone anyone else’s. Just one bad choice after another. Nothing for it now. This was his tomorrow, this was every day after, nightmares and static and uselessness.  
  
Something touched his shoulder; he didn't react, too busy trying to force his lungs to work and his hands to stop shaking. The touch intensified, and then there was a weight, and a pressure against his face that was hard-and-cold then soft-and-warm in turn.  
  
For a disoriented second he thought it must be Purr, rubbing against him-- when had it popped out of its pokéball? Wait, no, it couldn’t be Purr, he’d left Purr back at HQ--  
   
"Mmyyyah. Meowth. Mya." A meowth was butting its head into his face insistently, scraping charm and cheek over his cold skin. He felt another at his side, kneading his thigh with claws extended, little pinpricks of discomfort.  
  
He tried to say something, maybe 'screw off' or 'stop that', but only managed a breathy grunt. He wasn't getting full breaths in. His head was swimming.  
  
The meowth by his side hopped up into his lap and resumed kneading, sharp claws and sharp pressure against his heaving chest.  
  
Somehow... it helped. Almost by brute force, the pokémon was slowing down his breathing, forcing him to exhale fully before pulling in his next gasp.  
  
The meowth on his shoulder started licking his face and purring; the effect was like being nuzzled lovingly by a steel file, but his skin didn't feel so cold and numb anymore. He closed his eyes and let his head roll against the building behind him. Everything still seemed to be rocking back and forth, but the world was re-solidifying little by little, breath by labored breath.  
  
"All right," he wheezed, the words finally forming after several aborted attempts. "All right, I'm not dying, you can stop."  
  
The meowth on his chest gave a chirp of acknowledgement, not stopping but at least using a little less claw. The one on his shoulder bit his hair, and then patted it back into place with a paw.  
   
  
It really was a beautiful night. It smelled a little bit like sitrus cleaning products out here, and the flowers and the cooling stone. He couldn't smell the stinking beach. The meowth on his shoulder was still purring, the one on his chest still kneading, two little balls of soft heat tucked up against him.  
  
He lifted his hand-- steadier now-- and scratched behind the ears of his tiny masseuse. It crooned in pleasure, digging its claws ecstatically through his shirt.  
  
"Hey." He pulled his hand back.  
  
In response, the sharpness lessened. Slightly. Good as he was likely to get. He resumed petting.  
  
His thoughts were coming easier again, like his breathing-- breaths and ideas falling into order, one after another, as if in time with the movement of his hand over the meowth’s soft fur. He took stock.  
  
First order of business: he hadn't eaten more than a calorie bar out of a vending machine in nearly two days, and there he was wondering why he was unsteady on his feet and his hands were shaking. A few missed meals wouldn't do him much damage physically, but hunger made you foggy and stupid and that could hurt plenty. He couldn't say he felt hungry-- his stomach had twisted itself up at some point in the past few minutes and didn't show signs of untwisting-- but he was going to have to make himself eat.  
  
He'd have to call Interpol, too, and mention what the policeman had told him. Just get it onto the science division's radar, that's all. He'd have to pick up some food-- groceries for himself. And pokémon food, too: low level bribery to keep the rest of his clothes un-pissed-on.  
  
And then he'd have to--  
  
He stopped himself. Finish what was ahead of him first. No use thinking over the rest of it.  
  
"I need to eat," he said out loud, mostly to shame himself into standing up and stop himself from sitting there petting the meowth for the rest of the night as if he were as high as his recent beachgoing acquaintance.  
  
"Nya," the meowth on his shoulder agreed. The one on his lap hopped off instantly at the mention of food, and stood by looking expectantly.  
  
"...I said I need food, I don't know what you two think you have to do with it."  
  
The meowth on his shoulder bit his hair affectionately, and then climbed down his arm. He recognized it, now that he got a good look at it-- this was his shampoo-throwing houseguest. The other one was a stranger; a little longer in the leg, fur a half-shade darker, chip on the left edge of its forehead charm.  
  
_Designation A1, Alolan meowth, codename Fling. Designation A2, see A1, codename Chip,_ he thought before he could stop himself. ...no, he wasn't going to name the little bastards, not even in the privacy of his head. He'd only get attached.  
  
"I'm going to stand up," he told the air. The meowth watched with polite interest. He sat there, feeling wrung out. "Stand up."  All right. He'd try again in a min-- no, he'd try again now, dammit. He rolled his weight forward, got his legs under him, used the side of the Pokémon Center to push himself up-- there. On his feet.  
  
It wasn't that hard, he berated himself. It wasn't that he couldn't do these things; for some damn fool reason he just… didn’t.  
  
Flin- the first meowth scampered a few steps ahead of him, then stopped, and looked back. “Mya!”  
  
“Do you know something I don’t?”  
   
It yawned lazily at him. Of course it knew something he didn’t.    
   
“Want something from the Pokémon Center?” he asked, jerking a thumb at the building beside them.  
   
It made a disdainful sound and scampered away-- and off to the left, away from the steps up to the Pokémon Center.  
   
He squinted at the Center; there was still a pink aura around the bright light above those steps, a headache looming, so he turned away, following the little pokémon. Ch-- the second meowth tailed behind him, apparently to make sure he didn’t get lost.  
   
It wasn’t so absurd. Pokémon were a reliable source of local intelligence if you could figure out what they wanted and what they were trying to tell you. Meowth weren’t selfless by a long shot, but they were sensible and they’d lead you to anything as long as they got a cut out of it.  
   
He retraced his steps through the ruined village, passing the ridge he’d climbed up-- the meowth was leading him towards that firelight he’d seen, which turned out to be a campfire and portable grill set up next to a little pool of fresh water. The area was ringed by trailers and campsites, some more or less permanent tents, some the little one-man ruff-tents that long distance hikers used.  
   
This place-- this hadn’t changed. He realized he’d been worried about that, after what the policeman had said about Po Town. But this place, still ramshackle and faded, still friendly. Still a cook-fire at all hours. He’d had friends who lived in this campground, once, despite his parents’ best efforts.  
   
The swimmer he’d met at the motel’s laundry set-up was lounging in a portable beach chair by the fire, and there was a saddled and badged Mudsdale standing off to the side of it, taking idle mouthfuls of dirt as the policeman from the beach brushed it down.  
   
There was a sparse handful of other human types: a woman about his own age, in a gauzy floral shirt, sitting in a folding chair by the fire with a little girl in her lap. Under the front flap of a tent off to one side, a scrawny young man reading a battered magazine in the unsteady light of a hanging lantern. Tending the grill, a younger woman in a tank top, straps thin enough to show the tan line of backpack straps, shorts unfashionable but durable, hiking shoes worn.  
   
"Hey, Cousin!" The swimmer was the first to pick him out. “Howzit? You snuck by, huh?”  
   
“I’m stealthy,” Nanu said. If he couldn’t respond by recorded phrase, he’d always have irony.  
   
“Welcome in! You want some dinner?"  
  
Desperately, actually. There was steam wafting off the pot on the fire and it brought the smell of mago rice -- the knot in his stomach untwisted all at once, and he could feel how empty it was.  
"If there’s some to spare.”  
   
“Of course there is!” The woman in the flower shirt waved him forward. “What a question.”  
   
“Why does he get to be awake?” the girl in her arms piped up. “I want to--” whatever she was going to say was cut off by a yawn.  
   
“Because little girls need sleep to grow up big and strong,” her mother said fondly. “And grown-ups don’t need as much.”  
   
The little girl shot a resentful look at Nanu. “I’m plenty strong,” she said. “You should tell him to go to bed. He looks like he’s sick. Look at how pale he is.”  
   
Her mother turned the girl’s chin with a finger, looking seriously down into her face. “Hey, Plum-sauce, we don’t talk about people like that.”  
   
“To be fair, she’s not wrong,” Nanu said, before he could stop himself.  
   
The hiker by the campfire hid her expression with her hand, and the swimmer started to giggle softly.  
   
“Listen to your mom, Plum, not the rude man,” the policeman advised without looking up from his brushing.  
   
“Why are your eyes red?” the little girl asked, trying to squirm off of her mother’s lap.  
   
“Didn’t sleep enough as a kid. Should have listened to my mother.”  
   
The girl wrinkled her nose at him, her expression full of a longsuffering beyond her years. “Liar.”  
   
“Plum!”  
   
“She’s still not wrong,” Nanu shrugged. “I was born with them.”  
   
“That’s weird,” she said, with the certainty of … six-to-eight years of experience? He’d never been good at children.  
   
He nodded in agreement. The matter-of-fact acceptance seemed to throw the little girl off her guard, and she settled back into her mother’s arms, not without an occasional wary look back in his direction. Her mother started rocking her again.  
   
“Laura, feed this man so he stops teaching my daughter bad manners.”  
   
“Yes, ma’am.” The backpacker at the fire stooped down to fish a paper plate out of a sack at her feet; she scooped rice onto it with a spatula, and used the same spatula to expertly flip items off the grill and into the rice, spearing the whole assembly with a plastic fork.  
   
“Molayne, pass that chair over.” The young man with the magazine reached out-- the firelight caught the facets of the z-ring on his wrist-- and pushed a folded chair a few inches in his direction. Nanu leaned over to drag it closer to the fire before the woman-in-charge could take issue, and took the plate that hiker Laura offered to him.  
   
“You. Sit down, eat, stop being a bad influence.”  
   
“I’d listen to Hibiscus. She’s the authority around here,” said the policeman, still not looking up.  
   
“Oh, shush,” said apparently-Hibiscus, who absolutely was, in Nanu’s judgement, the authority around here.  
   
Nanu sat down, plate warm in his lap. Mago rice, grilled vegetables, and-- there was the nostalgia fighting its way through his apathy again-- slices of grilled can-chow. The processed and unidentifiable protein still had the shape of the tin it came out of, exactly like it should. Cooks in other regions thought of it as a food of last resort, and tried to disguise it if they used it at all. They didn’t understand that it was a delicacy.  
   
“Thanks,” he said, meaning it.  
   
The young man with the magazine looked up, only just registering his arrival, despite having just passed a chair to him. That kind of auto-suggestiveness could be dangerous; someone to keep away from psychic types.  
   
“Hello! Did I get your name? I’m Molayne.”  
   
“Laura,” said hiker-Laura. Apparently introductions were happening.  
   
“I’m Plumeria, only my friends get to call me Plum,” the little girl put in.  
   
“Hibiscus,” said Hibiscus, patting her daughter’s arm. “I think you’ve met Officer Ramsay and Toby.”  
   
“Yo,” the swimmer said. The policeman saluted with his curry-brush.  
   
“I’m Nanu.”  
   
“Alola!” Molayne gave a one-handed greeting. Hibiscus nodded regally.  
   
And then blessedly, that seemed to be all. Laura went back to watching the rice. Molayne disappeared back into his magazine. Hibiscus turned back to her daughter who started muttering about bed-time again; Toby went back to whatever was drifting through his brain in a cloud of smoke; the mudsdale and Officer Ramsay lost what little interest they’d had in him.  
   
No questions. No gossip. No friendliness to brace against like a sandstorm.  
   
He took a bite of his food-- and then a much larger one, and then he was wolfing it down. Anything would have tasted good; this tasted like heaven, the proportion of greasy mystery protein to crisp real vegetables to slightly-sweet rice a thing of mathematical perfection.  
   
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tasted what he was eating-- days? Weeks?  
   
Months?  
   
He didn’t bother to try to eat slowly. He only stopped once, when a set of claws dug warningly into his leg and he remembered he owed the two shadows at his feet their finder’s fee.  
   
Once Chip and Fli-- once the two meowth had taken their reward, he resumed the business of  eating himself and didn't stop until there was nothing left. Not quite even then. His fork left furrows in the paper plate as he dug for the last few grains of rice, the last hint of sweetness.  
   
Then the food was gone, and his stomach was cramping around its first full meal in days.  
  
He looked around, gaze flicking from face to face, but nobody was watching him. There didn't seem to be anything expected of him-- not even, as he got to his feet, a goodbye.  He was being unforgivably rude. He at least owed his hosts a thank you.  
  
But either they sensed that he didn't have it in him or they'd already written him off as an ill-mannered loss. He felt eyes on him as he slipped back into the shadows-- the little girl who'd been so loudly certain that she wasn't sleepy was half asleep and lying back in the crook of her mother’s strong arms, watching him out of narrowed eyes as the adults around her ignored him.  
  
He liked the girl. She was sharp. He liked her mother, too: Hibiscus would have been a chieftain if she'd been born during one of the island's more warlike ages. She was still a ruler, if of a smaller and slightly more itinerant kingdom.  
  
For a few minutes, with food in his stomach and the stars above him, he thought he might have it in him to go run some of his more pressing errands-- he should go buy food instead of borrowing it-- but no, that would have to wait. There was a higher priority.


	4. Two phone calls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrill! As the sad cop makes a phone call. Brace yourself! For more fast-paced phone call action.

The motel lobby was still empty when he got back, but the phone on the desk was angled toward the reception area with a worn handwritten card with instructions for how to call out propped against it.

There was a bad moment when he forgot the number. It should have been there, so long-memorized that his fingers should have been tapping it in before he knew what the digits were. Instead his brain turned up an empty space, and no matter how he shook his memory it wouldn't fall out. He fumbled out his wallet and pulled out his ID badge, flipping it over so that his staring photo and the bright red RETIRED stamp were hidden in his hand, and squinted at the general contact number. That was enough-- his memory pulled out the actual number he needed as if it'd never been gone.

He followed the arcane instructions to get through the motel's old-fashioned internal call system, and once he had a dial tone, he called his old division.

Somehow, despite knowing how impossible it was, he was expecting KR to be the one who picked up. Instead, it was a woman’s voice on the other end—youthful but assertive, friendly but not too friendly: “This is the Headquarters of the International Police. Please identify yourself.”

“Hello to you too, Anabel.” It wasn’t a shock, not really, he knew it wasn’t going to be him, but the difference still shoved his thoughts sideways for a half-second. “They've got you on the phones already? So much for that glamorous career in the IPD.”

Anabel sucked in a breath, loud and crackling in his ear. "Officer Nanu?”

“Not anymore,” he reminded her. “I won't keep you long.”

"What do you mean you won't keep me long? You fell out of contact. We were expecting to hear something from you when you arrived.”

“Well, that was your mistake.” He tried to soften his voice, but it still landed hard and flat. “You ever known me to be chatty?”

“No, but--” a sigh of frustration. He knew that sound well; could just picture the way she was probably rubbing her temples. Poor rookie. “You’re doing all right?”

“I’m settling in. Things going well there?” It wasn’t a social call, but the rookie had a way of dragging you along in a rip-tide of friendliness. Shame she’d never really got the chance to know KR. They’d have gotten along.

“They are. I think. Sir... if you don’t mind me asking... you left so suddenly. What happened?” 

For a moment he could feel it hanging in the air, as heavy as a waiting thunderstorm, everything that would have happened if he hadn’t handed in his resignation, if he hadn’t boarded that plane to Malie City. He could be sitting in the office across from Anabel, he could be walking through the long grey foyer of the Virbank IPD offices, pushing out into the damp cold of late autumn, buying another pair of too-expensive coffees from the cafe across the street and getting ready for a late night of dull paperwork. He cleared his throat, blinking until the low orange lamp light in the lobby sparkled. “I do mind you asking.”

A soft huff. She’d learn, if she stayed with Interpol, how to put up a better façade.

He redirected the subject: “How are Purr and Scrafty?”

“They've found a junior agent they like.” A soft chuckle. “She thinks she’s training them, but ... I think they’re training her. They miss working with you, though.”

That sounded like them. His old partners had always loved fieldwork. He'd done his best undercover work with them. If their new partner didn't know how a dark type at your side could camouflage that police-badge shine, she'd learn soon.

“They'll whip her into shape.” He glanced down at the check-in desk, worn and scratched from years of use, and lined up then the edges of a stack of tourist attraction pamphlets, all sparkling water and mountain tops and bright coloured flowers. “They won’t be out of the game for long.”

“That's not why they miss you,” Anabel said sternly.

“Let's be honest, it's most of the reason.” 

“They like you,” she insisted. “They miss you. A lot of us do. I do,” she added, like an accusation.

“You just got used to my ugly face, that’s all.” He tapped the edge of the pamphlet stack, breaking the smooth line, pushing them into a fan.

“I’m not used to many faces.”

A critical hit. He squeezed his eyes shut as if it was the dim light in the lobby that hurt, not the truth.

“I’m sorry, kid. You’ll pull through, though.”

“Yes, I will.”

She sounded so certain. She was at least ten years younger than him but there was core of steel in her; she had principles. She wanted to do good, not just do the work. She’d go far, if Interpol was smart enough to understand what they had.

...Historically, probably not. Which was why he’d called, in a roundabout way.

“I need to talk to one of our science types. Someone I worked with a while ago. An independent consultant—name of Jane, attached to your division. You think you could get me in contact with her?”

“I don’t know the name,” Anabel mused. “I’ll try, just a second.”

A rustle of papers, then the clatter of a keyboard. Familiar sounds, they went along with glass office walls and the irregular flicker and shift of tube lighting and top priorities. He leaned his weight on the check-in desk, breathing in the night flowers and staring out the glassless window at the southern stars he grew up with, and for that moment, didn’t miss Virbank at all. “She’s severed her contract.”

Ah. Not surprising, after all.

“Should I get the science division on the line instead?”

“No.” It was a fight to keep from snapping; the strength of his reaction confused him. Where had all that conviction come from? 

“Sir?”

Six months of working under him and the kid could read him entirely too well. Worrying, since he wasn’t even quite sure why he’d given that answer. He’d been planning to tell the science division, but if Jane wasn’t in on it... 

“It’s a personal issue related to an old case we worked on, that’s all,” he lied.

“If it’s personal, there is a contact number... it’s confidential, but I can leave her a message and have her call you.” She hadn’t noticed his lie, at any rate. She didn’t know him that well. He’d always been a natural at it-- deception. A rare if useful skill for an IPD agent. Never had KR’s knack for disguise, but could sell a story without giving himself away. 

Or Anabel was so used to being lied to she wouldn’t know the difference.

“Thanks,” he said. “That’d be great. My contact number’s changed, but that should be on record.”

“It was good to hear your voice, sir. I hope your retirement’s going well.”

“Yeah. Great.” He hung up on her, harder than he meant to; his hand was numb on the telephone handset and he couldn’t feel the force of it.

Of course she couldn't understand why he'd left-- and he wasn't about to tell her. 

Then again Purrloin and Scrafty hadn’t understood why he was leaving either, not really, and they’d been there for the worst of it. They hadn’t started to shut down. ...they’d seen him faltering, they’d been worried, they’d reached out loyally to help, and he hadn’t been able to tell them what he needed and ended up hurting them. 

In the end the three of them had talked it over, in the way that humans and pokémon who knew each other well could, but there’d been a failure in communication that went beyond the language barrier. 

They’d been disappointed in him, he was sure of that. Especially Scrafty; he and it had been together for years, since before it had evolved, and it had gotten more attached to him than he deserved. Despite everything, it hadn’t wanted him to go. He’d offered to take both pokémon along, but they all knew that wouldn’t happen; his old partners had policework in them right down to the DNA. 

He didn’t know what he had in him, anymore.

He hadn’t meant to be liked. He hadn’t meant for anyone to miss him when he was gone. He hadn't expected to miss them in return. 

He did. He missed his partners. Anabel. 100KR. He even missed HQ and the paperwork. He’d hated playing the above-board by the book officer, he’d been a lousy mentor, he’d hated the desk work, but right now the memories of it were warm and welcoming compared to this. At least he’d been doing something.

The phone rang; his hand was still resting on the cradle and he nearly knocked the whole thing off the desk in his surprise. He’d been standing there so deep in his own head that the outside world was an unpleasant shock.

The phone rang again.

Probably someone trying to make a reservation. He should let it ring.

He picked up the handset cautiously.

“Route 13 Extended Stay Motel, Ula’ula island,” he said.

“That’s a terrible designation,” the caller said. “Triple-Zero was much better.”

He blinked. “Jane?”

“You’re lucky. Anabel caught me on my way to bed. I’m lucky, too; I thought I’d have to leave a message with the motel, and I’m no good at your fancy spy codes. I’m just a civilian consultant, after all,” she cooed, so sweet and poisonous even a salazzle would have to applaud.

He felt his mouth jerk involuntarily to the side. “Just send a full bottle of hairspray. I’ll know it’s from you.”

“I heard you retired, you bitter old queen! I was going to throw a party.”

“Party’s still on. I’m out of the business.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh, Triples. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.” He cleared his throat. “I – there’s something about the wormholes. I think there’s some fallout from the incursion in Alola. Maybe an after-effect of the radiation.”

Immediately her voice was serious. “Shouldn’t this go to Interpol’s science division?”

Well, yes, it should, but... “If Interpol finds out, and they think there's been another breach, they’ll do what they did last time. They’d send a couple agents and a Faller. You know who that means.”

“Arceus alive. They would, wouldn’t they, the bastards?” Jane breathed. “They’d send your new girl.”

“She’s a rookie. Good, but a rookie. And the wormholes already did a flying press on her memories—who knows what more exposure could do?”

“Right. We’ll keep this off the record. What have you got for me?”

“You need to get in contact with a police officer on Ula’ula; Officer Ramsay. Something washed up on a local beach a few days after the incursions, something that’s scared off the ghosts. Mention the Thrifty Megamart, everyone on this island’ll know what you mean. He’ll have more details. Whatever this is, if it’s going to hurt anybody, I need to know. Then...” Then what. They might have to call in Interpol. Who else had the resources to handle it?

“Then.” Jane cleared her throat primly. “Triples, nobody’s supposed to know this. I need you to swear it doesn’t get any further than you.”

“Understood. What am I not supposed to know-?”

“The paperwork is buried deep, but I’m still under contract with Interpol. I’m embedded in an organization that has a connection to the wormhole incidents in Alola. I’ll have to get a lot deeper to know what that connection is, but I can steer some resources your way if there really is a problem. Off the record.”

What. “What. Embedded. Jane, what the hell are you thinking? You’re a civilian—”

“A civilian consultant? When has that stopped the IPD?” She chuckled bitterly. “At least they asked me first.”

“Are you safe?”

“I’m safe. Don’t worry. I’m working as a personal assistant right now; the worst thing I’m dealing with is coffee orders and skinned knees.”

“Skinned--”

“Don’t ask.” 

“Where are you?” 

“Might be closer than you think.” She chuckled. It was hollow. “I need to do this. I need my own answers.”

Anabel had said something like that, too, when he was gently trying to talk her out of signing up with Interpol. 

“Understood,” he said, just as reluctantly now as then. “Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t--” 

“I don’t blame you, you know. You or KR. For what happened to Esperanza.”

That was Jane, wasn’t it? Always knew exactly where to use cut.

“I knew what Interpol’s strategy was. I should have stopped it. I should never have let her get near the Beasts. I should have at least told her she was being used as a glorified fishing lure, given her the chance to back out.”

“She would have gone anyway.” Jane swallowed audibly. “She was a very brave woman. And she was dedicated to understanding the UBs. If Interpol had just asked her. They didn’t even ask her.”

“I know.”

He hadn’t liked Esperanza, but she’d been good at her job. She’d done everything that Interpol had ever asked of her, and then they’d gone ahead and taken more anyway, and it was—unfair as hell.

“Have you heard from KR?” Jane asked.

The question caught him off guard. “No. Not since he volunteered for that deep cover assignment.”

“He called me. I think he was drunk. He just kept apologizing,” Jane said. “He blames himself no matter what I tell him.”

“Yeah. I know.” He knew. He’d tried to tell KR, when he found out about the assignment, but it had come out sharp and backhanded. He hadn’t had the right words. Still didn’t.

“It’s his way of trying to make up for it, going off on his own. He feels like he let us down.”

“Well, he’s an idiot.” That earnest lanky bastard took everything to heart. KR was too noble for his own damn good. A pressure was wrapping around Nanu’s chest again.

“...I miss him too, Triples.”

“Shut up.” That wasn’t a smooth counter, that was a graceless flail. 

Jane made a humming sound, too knowing and too sympathetic. Then she let it drop. “I’ll see what I can find out about the storm on Ula’ula. I’ll be in contact. Take care of yourself.”

She hung up on him, which was only fair, in a universal sense. He lowered the phone, putting it back carefully this time. 

Nanu’s throat hurt; his breathing was shallow and difficult. His feet were cold on the wooden floor. He felt as if he were trapped in the past again, as if the present and the little motel lobby were too far away to ever reach. 

_You don’t deserve to be upset about any of it,_ he berated himself, trying to make himself move. _Suck it up. You weren’t the one who got hurt . Now get something to eat and stop standing around in the lobby like a fool._

He couldn’t bring himself to go far; weariness pulled at his legs like deep mud. He could grab something from the vending machine--a few packets of trail mix and whatever else, enough calories to keep him going until he could buy real food. Another bottle of water, and then he could re-fill the bottles and make himself drink tomorrow.

He felt like he was watching someone else slot coins into the machine and gather up the little hoard of junk food. He was standing to the side and watching a dead-eyed stranger shamble back into an impersonal motel room and drink half a bottle of water without wiping away the trickle that leaked down his chin.

He wasn't tired enough to sleep; he wasn't himself enough to do anything else. He sat on the end of the bed, clicked the television on, stared past the screen as someone advertised an amazing new way to get rust off of common household appliances.

After a while, he realized there was a soft weight in his lap. Looking down, he saw that Fling had gotten back into the room and made itself at home. Something about its calm presence helped tether him to his own body, like it had when he’d been having his useless little fit behind the Pokémon Center. 

"I hope you don't expect much from me," he told it, rubbing his thumb across the meowth’s fur, just below the charm on its forehead. It started to purr blissfully. "You don't care, do you? That's nice."

Another warm body settled against his leg; this one was a stranger, a big battle-scarred meowth with a ragged bite out of one ear. Word must have gotten around that he was an easy mark for furry little freeloaders. _A3. Codename Notch,_ he thought, and didn't even bother to scold himself. Soon a shadow in the bathroom doorway resolved itself into a third meowth, the one with the unmistakeable chip in the charm. Chip gave him a friendly little trill, circling the room once before deciding his suitcase was the ideal bed tonight. 

It was still unbearable to live like this, to feel all this nothing all the time, but... a little less so, with these small intruders forcing their way through the distance between him and the world. Fling butted his hand softly, seeking some perfect angle of affection. He scratched it under the chin.

"Yeah. I guess you're alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yes our naming process when we needed a first name to give a canon character was 100% 'dumb action movie joke' and 0% 'what is plausible or tonally consistent'.


	5. A Three Man Taskforce (with four members)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here's what happened on Poni Island...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update since the last chapter was short. 
> 
> Canonical character deaths in this one, pokemon and human both.

To put some context to the scale of it-- to how bad the incursion seven months ago had been-- you had to understand this:

The IPD had collected reports of wormhole activity for decades; they kept an ear to the ground for them.

Normally, if you weren’t a pan-regional anti-crime force, you might come across one or two odd stories in your lifetime. If you were lucky, or unlucky, sitting in a bar late at night after everything else in a town but the Pokémon Center and the local had closed. Or if you were out early enough, getting coffee in the blue hour with the sunrise and whoever else had come through the night awake and felt like sharing the stories that had found their way to them in the dark.

People went missing, and wound up somewhere else with no memory of getting there. Shaken civilians called in half-coherent accounts of seeing a crack in the sky, or unidentifiable creatures running amok. The information dribbled in slowly from different points of the globe, and if you weren’t keeping an eye on the pattern you’d probably write it off as urban legends and a few sleep-deprived crackpots.

The scientist Esperanza had known the wormholes were real. After all, she’d come spilling out of one herself, starving, dehydrated, shaking with the influence of a poison that nobody could identify. She didn’t remember where she’d come from, when she’d entered that strange other world; she had a few snatches of memory, some images that stayed with her, the skills of a physicist, but her sense of self had been… broken.

She’d made her own purpose. She’d thrown herself into researching the wormholes with a single-minded obsession that might have finished the job the other world had started and destroyed the rest of her sanity, if she hadn’t found an assistant. She’d found a younger woman who was on her way to becoming a brilliant scientist in her own right, who believed her improbable story and was willing to stand by her and drag her back from the edge….

On paper Jane had been her junior research partner. In reality, she’d been a lifeline back to the world. They’d been inseparable, stronger and brighter together than apart, and together they’d been able to take the first steps to really understanding the wormholes.

Interpol had more or less taken the two of them on as permanent consultants on wormhole activity, funding their research in parallel with Interpol’s own science division, even sending one or both of them out into the field now and then… along with a couple of agents who had the unenviable task of babysitting them.

And the agent designated 000 hadn’t liked either of them, but he hadn’t liked Jane in a more comfortable way. The two of them had at least enjoyed not liking each other. And even he had to grudgingly admit they worked well together as a unit, he and his fellow agent and the two scientists. Not that they worked together so often: studying the wormholes had been never been the top of his and 100KR’s priority list, but when it came up at least he knew who they’d be working with and what to expect.

When the sky opened over Alola, it was a breach in the fabric of the world on a larger scale than every other incident combined. It spilled out two creatures-- and then a few hours later, a third. Twelve hours later, a fourth.

The science division called the invaders Ultra Beasts, and had scoured urban legends and historical record to piece together the best scientific understanding of them they could. The only thing that every account agreed on was their capacity for destruction: a single Beast could destroy whole towns, maybe even whole cities, raise a horrible body count. Four, with the potential for more? All clustered onto a chain of small islands? The carnage would be unimaginable.

His superiors had pulled him out of an operation in Unova, ordered him and KR to abandon months of work and plunge into action against the Beasts. The 000/100KR team been an obvious choice: their limited experience with the UBs was still more than any other agent had; 000 had a native’s knowledge of the location; KR had his unmatched ability to coordinate people and keep morale high.

It was a less obvious choice to throw Esperanza directly into the field, unless you knew what Interpol’s internal science division had discovered.

Fallers, the science division privately called the few poor people who’d gotten pulled into the Beasts’ dimension and made it out again. Fallers, because they’d fallen from the cracks in the sky. Every last one of them was irradiated with the energy of that other universe; it poured out of them like water out of a leaking cup and left a trail wherever they went. Esperanza was no exception.

To the Ultra Beasts who were stranded here in the dimension of humans and pokémon, that radiation was the one familiar thing in an alien landscape. It was almost sad—whatever those creatures were, they were lost and in pain and they’d walk through any attack and into any trap trying to get to that glimpse of home.

Too bad they’d tear a Faller apart trying to get to it.

Someone high up the ranks in Interpol had done the simple mathematics; losing one life was better than losing hundreds. A Faller could be used to lure the Beasts away from populated areas, to draw them out of hiding, and if that meant taking one last Fall then so be it.

With more of that mathematical efficiency, Interpol had only sent a three-person task force to grapple with the hell breaking loose in Alola: two agents and one unsuspecting Faller, officially there in her capacity as an expert in the Ultra Beasts. But they’d had a shadow fourth member watching their back-- Jane had been in constant contact from Esperanza’s lab, monitoring the energy fluxes, trying to predict where each new invasion would happen and give the group in the field a head start, keep them from being blindsided.

Hundreds of Alolans owed the two scientists their lives and didn’t know it-- Jane’s readings and Esperanza’s insight had let them shut down the mall on Melemele before a poisonous Beast fell through reality and crashed through two floors, almost bringing the whole roof down with it. Jane’s eye-in-the-sky coordination had been the only thing that let them lure a vicious sharp-edged creature away from tourist-packed Royal Avenue and into the caves of the volcano, where 100KR and his croagunk mobilized the local fire type pokémon into an ambush.

They’d been a well-oiled machine, this three-man task force with four members. Nobody else could have done better. It’d still been a nightmare. They’d learned quickly that there was no containing the Beasts—however much they resembled pokémon, pokéballs couldn’t read their alien signatures. There was no reasoning with them, no calming them, no way to communicate. In the end, the only option was to stop them in the most permanent way possible.

It took a toll on you. Killing wasn’t a thing that got easier, especially when what you were killing was something that looked so much like a pokémon, like something you’d learned since infancy should be befriended and protected. 000 had retreated into his own apathy, turning to the task at hand with the same cold competence he used for any other assignment.

The rest of the team—they’d lacked his capacity to be a hard-hearted bastard. Esperanza had taken it hard, jaws clenched and tears running down her face as she took samples of each lifeless hulk, narrating her discoveries into the radio for Jane with a voice on the verge of breaking. KR had closed in on himself; the bombast and optimism had drained out of his handsome face with each encounter until he looked as hollow and miserable as his red-eyed wretch of a partner. Their partner pokémon-- KR’s croagunk, 000’s scrafty and purrloin-- they understood what needed to be done, but there was a sadness in their eyes, a lethargy outside of battle that no healing could lift.

Humans and pokémon alike, they’d all been exhausted when the last Beast made its appearance. This particular creature had been lowest on the priority list because it hadn’t been close to a population center: Poni Island didn’t have a population center. What there was was a migrant community of seafolk, who evacuated in quick time, and left the little team alone to push into the wilds toward their target.

The Ultra Beast found them first. It spotted Esperanza from well across the wilds; it moaned as it lurched toward them.

Big ugly thing. Most of its torso was taken up by a gaping, toothy mouth; two thick stalks snaked out of either side of that drooling void, both appendages tipped with secondary jaws. It had what might have almost looked like a head, just a nub on top of its body, but that was as vestigial as a ditto’s arms. Everything about it, the stubby wings, stubby legs, blobby tail and useless claws, all of that was an afterthought compared to its mouth. They hadn’t been able to tell if it even used its eyes. It seemed to rely mostly on scent and the clumsy pawing of its secondary mouth-stalks, which patted the world around it constantly, taking indiscriminate bites out of rocks, trees, dirt, anything and everything they touched.

But as terrible as it was, the Beast sounded like it was in pain. It veered and staggered as if lost, roaring out its misery.

“I hate this,” Esperanza murmured, already resigned.

100KR bowed his head like a man at a funeral. “Yes.”

000 said nothing; he’d sealed his regret far away behind a protective wall of resentment and cold practicality. He checked the magazine of his sidearm and then reached for his belt.

Battling was always a gamble with the damn Beasts; they were never affected by the attacks you thought they would be. That little not-exactly-steel one had been a nightmare, had knocked Purr out cold with a damn bug attack of all things. 000 eyed the lurching thing in front of them and made a quick call, flicking Scrafty’s ball out and throwing it with a single practiced motion. KR had Croagunk out in the next second, and the two fighting types shared a grim look before focusing on the enemy.

The Beast closed on them, three small humans and two smaller pokémon. The agents took aim with their sidearms. Esperanza waited between them, Scrafty and Croagunk on their right flank.

The Beast paused, scenting the air, confirming its target, and then took an almost cautious step forward, ground shaking under its weight.

And 100KR… hesitated.

Not long. Just half a second to frantically wrack his brain for any alternative, any way to help the poor creature instead of murdering it, to save just one of the miserable things who’d never asked to be lost here and didn’t understand the horror they left in their wake.

In that same half-second, 000 was thinking _suicide to approach from the front, 90% sure it’s something like a dark-type, come at it from below and hit it with the strongest fighting move in the arsenal while it’s stunned, keep hitting it until it stops moving, hit it for a while after that._

In that same half second, one of the Beast’s secondary mouths shot out with impossible speed and precision, and Esperanza screamed.

000 barked “ _Dig!_ ” and both agents opened fire, but it was too late. The Beast tossed the scientist into its gaping mouth like a pokébean, and her scream cut off as the huge central jaws snapped shut behind her.

The Beast moaned again, turning a slow circle because now the radiation it had been tracking was somewhere inside it; its secondary mouths bit at its own body, stupidly searching for the source. It was off guard when Scrafty boiled out of the earth underneath it, sending it staggering into a ledge of rock. Croagunk hadn’t let it get its balance, sliding in to sweep its legs, and Scrafty jumped into the air to deliver a reckless, brutal kick.

A Low Kick wasn’t just a kick, it was a jolt of some energy native to the pokémon that used it, something bigger than mass allowed for. A two ounce fletchling could bring the same impact as a sledgehammer if it really tried, and two trained fighting types like Scrafty and Croagunk.... The Beast reacted as if it’d been hit by a bus.

Bullets, only the other hand, did nearly nothing to the thing-- but they did distract it, so the agents kept up constant fire, one reloading while the other kept those deadly mouth-stalks away from the two pokémon as they worked. 000 never knew if the bullets had even penetrated its thick skin.

That hadn’t stopped him from emptying his last magazine into its corpse, shot after shot right into those sightless eyes even after it had stopped twitching.

Then he’d had coldly taken the medical kit, wasn’t it lucky Esperanza had dropped it as she was taken, and gone to patch up his partner. Behind him, he heard 100KR open the radio channel to Jane, trying to break the news, the words turning into a raw sob halfway through.

…That had probably gotten the situation across pretty accurately.

Scrafty had half knocked itself out in combat with the Beast, and Croagunk was too exhausted to do anything but struggle. They pokémon had fought without a second thought for their own safety, out of desperation more than training, and that had been the only thing that saved the two human agents. Croagunk clutched at 000’s shirt as he examined its wounds, garbling out questions that the human couldn’t quite understand. Scrafty said one word-- the collection of syllables it used to name Esperanza-- and then fell silent.

000 administered first aid quickly and clinically and then turned his back on the two pokémon to take samples of the corpse.

It was the battered pokémon who’d had the compassion to limp over to KR and provide what comfort there was to be had. They had stayed with the other agent, supporting him as he pulled himself together to report the end of the mission to HQ. 000 had done cleanup and then stood by like a stranger, watching his colleagues with a coldness that he couldn’t switch off.

He wanted to blame KR. He really did. But KR wasn’t the one who had failed in his duty.

KR hadn’t gotten Esperanza killed; she’d been a dead woman walking the moment she was ordered into the field. It was their superiors who’d signed her death warrant.

And it was 000 who’d let them.

If the two agents and the two scientists had been a well-oiled machine, Esperanza’s death was an explosion. In a cloud of heat and misery, it blew them apart and sent the three survivors flying into separate corners of the room, battered and bent.

Jane cut contact and disappeared into her lab, interested only in making sure that the data her friend had died for wasn’t wasted.

100KR asked for a field assignment nobody should have given him until he’d had a few weeks of rest—but Interpol had obliged, of course.

000 had asked for his own transfer, away from specialist work, evolving backwards into simply Officer Nanu. Interpol didn’t need an agent like him in the field, one who obeyed orders without question. KR would be better off without his influence. The junior agent needed to keep that core of mercy in him, and Interpol needed an agent who would make mistakes on the side of compassion, not another cold-blooded accountant tallying up lives like expenses in a ledger.

In his own way, Nanu had tried to make up for his failures: he’d tasked himself with rehabilitating one of the victims of the last incursion, a young woman who’d washed up on the shores of Poni island a few hours after the last Beast was put down. He didn’t know if he’d done a good job of it-- probably not-- but he’d put all he’d had left into trying.

She didn’t remember where she’d come from, or how long she’d been lost in Ultra Space. She didn’t even remember her rescue, or 100KR carrying her on his back to the Pokémon Center. She remembered her name, that she’d been from somewhere in Hoenn, that she had been a pokémon trainer, and that she’d defended some kind of tower. But her sense of self was… broken.

She’d made her own purpose. She’d joined the organization that rescued her.

Tough, smart little rookie Anabel. Full of potential.

And wormhole energy.


	6. Warnings and other small favours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which people are kinder to Nanu than he deserves and impending doom comes in nice gift wrap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when we said this story was going to be five chapters long? 
> 
> Hahaha we're not crying in despair you're crying in despair

Nanu fell asleep as dawn was breaking and woke up with a scream in his ears.

It took a second to get his bearings, but maybe not as much as it had the time before and the time before that. Maybe.

The light that slithered through the cracks in the curtain was gold and lazy, and the afternoon heat was creeping in-- not too bad, and it would be better if he started the ceiling fan and got a drink of water, but it was hot enough to make it difficult to fall back asleep. Especially since he’d woken up with a couple of little snoring furnaces plastered against him. Even though there was a cushioned bed in the corner for pokémon to sleep in, standard with the room, the meowth had all decided to lie on him instead.

Fling opened one lazy eye as he pushed it aside. "Myaw," it complained.

"Myaw yourself."

It yawned theatrically, and then rolled into the dip he'd left in the mattress.

He realized, as he was looking around for socks (and finding only two Heart Scales and a rusty cap from a bottle of MooMoo milk that could only have been picked up and left by the meowth), that he'd left his laundry in the machine last night.

"Hell."

Yesterday's baggy khaki pants could last him another day; they didn't smell as objectionable as the travel clothes Fling had gotten so judgmental about. The t-shirt-- fusty but it'd keep the sun off him long enough to rescue his clothes. He could hang at least a few items up over the shower rod to wear later, and line dry the rest.

He gave up on finding socks and went out barefoot again, squinting against the sun and walking quickly over the hot pavement until he could get to the grass. There were wet footprints leading around the motel-- a swimmer heading straight from the water to his laundry. Toby, probably.

...Toby definitely, he saw, rounding the corner and taking refuge in the small strip of shade along the back. The other man was on his feet this time, eyes clear and distant. Not high, but in that dreamy day-after phase that was almost as annoying. He was taking his clothes off the drying line; his hair was still wet, and occasionally a drop of water would splash onto his bare, tanned shoulder and run a little down the swell of his bicep before evaporating.

Wait a minute, some of those clothes on the line--

"Alola," Toby greeted, putting down the shorts he was folding to greet Nanu with both hands, palms tracing the sun circle. "Hope you don't mind. Saw you left your stuff in the machine, so I hung it up with mine last night. Should be dry."

"No, that was-- that was nice of you."

"You should come back to the camp more often. It's nice having a new face."

"...If you say so." He'd eaten silently and left. The swimmer had very low standards for dinner company. "Can I... help you? I should do something."

"Yeah, sure." Another dreamy smile. "More the merrier. I'll pull them down, you fold. You look like you burn easy, yeah? I've got some cream if you need it."

Well, at least he was more frank about it than poor Alani. "I'm going to get into Malie city at some point, I'll take care of it then."

"Yeah, but until then," Toby said, undeterred. "I've got some--" he picked up a large canvas bag, half full of folded clothes, and started rummaging around. "Here. It's good, I have plenty back at my place."

He tossed a plastic bottle over underhand, and Nanu caught it.

"Waterproof. That'll do you."

"I'll pay you back." Nanu jammed the bottle into his pocket. Between Toby and the meowth he was going to have more little useful items and knick-knacks than he could carry.

"You've been off the island too long, Cousin," Toby scolded him fondly. Fondly? The man's brain must be fried. "We look out for each other. People and pokémon. You don't have to pay me."

"You should save that Alola spirit for someone who can appreciate it," Nanu grumbled, but he left his little strip of shadow for the shade under the metal awning over the machines. "Pass me something. I'll fold."

"You pack like a hiker," Toby said, impressed, after he'd rolled a pair of the other man's shorts into a compact cylinder and tucked it into the canvas bag.

"I used to move around a lot."

"Gonna backpack here?"

"No."

"Planning to find a place?"

Ugh. The future. Plans.

"...or not, that's fine," Toby said cheerfully, leaving him wondering what his expression had given away. The swimmer's small assortment of non-water-adjacent clothes were folded quickly, and Toby started taking down Nanu's things without waiting to be asked. "It's good business for the motel."

"Nn."

Wonder of wonders; the other man caught on that he wasn't feeling talkative, and passed him the rest of his clothing in easy silence. It'd taken less than half the time that it would have alone, and he hadn't had to stand out in the sun frying and fighting with the line, either.

Wasn't that-- nice.

He wasn't sure who he was irritated at. Himself, for taking advantage of undeserved kindness, or Toby for offering it, or the universe for putting it in his path where he could trip over it. He wasn't good at gratitude and he was worse at generosity and-- he wished people would leave him alone before he had a chance to disappoint them.

Toby hefted his bag; something in it crinkled, and he paused. "Right. Forgot."

Nanu watched as he pulled out a little foil bag of roasted beans, marked ‘X-tra Hot Tamato Spice’, and tucked it halfway into a crevice where the concrete base under the machines had been cracked by a tree root.

There was a soft scrabbling sound, and then the bag started to twitch, and then disappear inch by jerky inch into a larger hole under the concrete stoop. A familiar rattata peaked out a second later, blinking and ruffling its whiskers sleepily. It seemed that codename Bean had had better luck than Nanu when it came to avoiding the local meowth population.

"Ta," it said, which just went to show that your average pokémon could say thank you more gracefully than him, and then it pulled its head back in. Daytime was for sleeping, if you were a rattata. Nanu couldn't help but agree with the sentiment.

"What happened to ‘He can have just one?’" he needled Toby.

"Eh. He's the only who’ll eat the spicy ones with me. Gotta encourage good taste." Toby nodded firmly and shouldered his bag again. "Stay shady, cousin. See you around."

"Take care." Nanu sketched a little goodbye with one hand.

Once he'd put his clothes away-- actually in the drawers of the motel room, not in a heap on the bed-- he took a bottle of water and went outside. Not far, just enough to fold down against the wall of the motel under the shade of the porch awning, but at least he was sitting and doing nothing in the fresh air. That was almost healthy. Plenty of people paid good money to sit in the shade in Alola and do nothing. He told himself he'd rest until he felt a little better and then head into the city.

He didn't believe it, but that's what he told himself.

Maybe try approaching it like an operation, instead of... whatever it was he was doing. Flailing. One step at a time. Equipment: good boots, waterproof sunscreen, money. Possible entryways: over Blush Mountain, or the long road around it. That road was wickedly rough in patches, but you could get over or around those if you were patient and knew the area. Objective: food, specifics to be determined once on site.

Step one; get up.

That first step always was the hardest one, wasn’t it.

He shut his eyes and leaned back against the door. The heat was keeping him drowsy; he should drink more water. His bottle was already empty. Of course, that ran right around to 'step one, get up', and that didn't help.

He drifted for a while, not asleep and not completely awake, twitching back to full alertness every time something rustled or called and then melting back into a stupor. His neck started to ache but not enough to be worth moving. The shadows slowly crept across the ground, shifting each time he opened his eyes to squint at them. The sound of the sea took the edges off everything.

A soft, rhythmic thumping pulled him back up to the surface, and he cracked one eye-- Officer Ramsay, in a tee-shirt and non-uniform pants, leading his mudsdale toward the motel.

_Don't be looking for me._

Just to spite him, that was the moment the policeman saw him. Ramsay tossed his reins over the mudsdale's back, patted it on the flank, and then headed straight toward him.

_Damn._

Ramsay stopped in front of the porch instead of climbing up the stairs; that put them almost at eye level without Nanu having to stand up.

"Good morning, early riser," Ramsay said, eyes crinkling. Night-shift humor. Nanu could appreciate that.

"What do you want?"

...not enough to be polite, mind you, but he did appreciate the humor.

"I wanted to ask you something."

"If it's about Interpol--"

"It isn't.” He tipped a half smile. “But I did get a call from a scientist this morning, so they must have thought it was important. Thank you."

Nanu grunted. He hadn't done much-- hadn’t even really told Interpol what was happening-- and he didn't want the officer assuming a debt that wasn't there.

"That isn’t what I was going to ask you, though. I was wondering if you'd like to come up to the city tonight. There's a big beauty revue at Two Queens and Kel's going to take a bunch of us over in her jeep. It'd be good to have you."

Nanu blinked. Was someone impersonating him, wandering around and leaving some kind of a good impression?

"I know you just got back to the island and you might want more time to settle in," Ramsay said, “But I had to ask.”

"...why?"

"Well, you're our own home-grown international man of mystery, aren't you? I can't speak for everyone else, but I know I'm intrigued." And Ramsay winked at him.

Oh.

Oh, wait a second.

Was he being flirted with.

Was there something in the water down here, or did Ramsay just have horrible taste?

"If it's not your kind of place, I understand..."

Nanu shook his head automatically. "No, your miracle eye's still working. Just hadn't been thinking about the nightlife. I... haven't been to Two Queens since I needed a fake ID to sit at the bar. Glad the place is still standing."

"Solid as the mountains."

"I needed to get into the city anyway," he said, half to himself. No, this was a terrible idea. He hated people. Liked beauty revues all right, but they came with a lot of noise and drunk crowds, he'd be jammed into a vehicle with a bunch of strangers--

\--and the alternative was another night watching infomercials and developing a callus on his ass from all the high-intensity sitting down he was doing. He needed to stop being a lazy bastard and go out because that's what functional people did.

"Sure. I could use a drink.” There. And now he was almost looking forward to it, a little warm swell under his ribs. Almost. “...I won't be great company, though."

"Just hold down a seat and look dangerous. That's all I need." Ramsay's eyes crinkled at the edges again. "We're leaving when Kel gets off shift this evening; we'll swing by."

“I’m not going anywhere.”

...He might put on a clean shirt. If he was feeling really wild and crazy.

In a little while. Ramsay and his mudsdale clopped away, off towards the oasis, and after a while a few murkrow fluttered down to poke at the muddy hoofprints for anything interesting.

They shot him sidelong glances, but seemed to realize he wasn’t much of a threat, chattering softly to each other and going back to their scavenging. He blinked, and minutes slid past, then blinked again and realized he was slipping back into that old-man drowse, and that he didn’t care.

There was a sound like a drumbeat from high up above him. He jerked awake.

The shadows had crept back out from under the ridge; the sun had moved. Another thump; dust kicked up on the road. He knew that sound. Familiar. There was a shadow in the middle of the lot in front of the motel, small but swiftly getting bigger. Wings in the sky. Not an attack. Calm down. He knew this.

...Mail.

A charizard landed beside the motel, with a last big dust-flinging wingbeat to slow its descent, claws settling almost daintily into the the dirt. The courier on its back flipped the visor of her helmet up and slid off the fire-type’s back, giving it a reassuring thump on the shoulder blade before unhooking the huge mailbag from its harness.

He heard the door to the motel lobby creak as Alani came trotting out to get the mail, greeting the courier happily, launching into a conversation immediately. The courier chatted as she sorted out the mail, and if he couldn’t make out most of the words the friendly tones they were speaking in carried. He let his attention drift away again.

Then a snatch of conversation carried to him.

“--room 104”

His room. Wasn’t he the popular one today. He kept himself deliberately relaxed and still, eyelids more than half-closed even though he was now focused completely on the courier and the oddly shaped package she was balancing on her hip. Alani pointed toward him, her face wrinkling into that expression people got when they found something cute.

The courier trotted over-- her sleek riding gear emphasized her musculature. Well developed arms and shoulders-- must do something with heavy lifting. She’d handled that mailbag like it was weightless.

She looked familiar. Not just in the way that most everyone here did, shared features and smiles and voices right out of his childhood, memories he hadn’t thought about since he’d learned to mask his own tells and enjoy the fun of letting the mainland types guess where he was from. No, he’d met her before-- or someone in her family.

It was the red patches in her hair that finally clued him in. Wasn’t he a credit to basic Interpol feature-recognition training? She wasn’t even trying to disguise herself; he was just that washed up. But he got there eventually, and he’d be cursed if she wasn’t a direct descendant of old Koa, the Akala kahuna.

And if she had a second job on the family ranch, it would explain how she’d handled that mailbag like a one-woman Strength user.

Also she probably wasn’t here to kill him, despite his left-over instinct to assess her as a threat. And If she was, she’d definitely give him a hell of a challenge. Good job, courier.

“Package for you!” she called, holding up something oddly-shaped and gleaming in the sunlight.

“Lucky me,” he said dryly, pushing himself up so that he was sitting as much as slouching.

She grinned at his dour expression. “You are lucky; it’s from the Aether Foundation. They’ve got some good swag.”

“Aether-?”

“Alani said you’d been away a while.” She nodded like that proved it, and he tried to clamp down on the little spark of irritation that something he’d never heard of could have made itself such a routine part of his island. He had been away awhile. Being a naturally suspicious bastard, in fact. He needed to remember that.

“They’re good people!” the courier assured him, her grin growing. “Big money conservation types; they set up shop around here few years ago. They look out for wild pokémon. Haven’t you been to see them? They took over that house on the bay, that’s not far from here.”

“I don’t get out much.”

She clicked her tongue. “Lazy.”

He nodded agreement. It sounded much less vicious than when he said it in the privacy of his own head. From her it barely sounded like an insult at all.

“I think it’s nice of them though. They’re always doing stuff like that. And hey, welcome back to Ula’ula,” she said, thrusting the package at him--some kind of gift basket, when he felt it, shape disguised by crinkled white plastic wrapping.

He took it reluctantly.

“Thanks.” It was such an inadequate syllable, and he’d been saying it so much recently that it felt like all the meaning had been wrung out.

“Pleasure!” the courier told him, and then turned away, loping back to her charizard and reattaching that massive mailbag with no visible effort.

Alani waved, beaming, as her friend departed again-- it was all disgustingly charming with healthy young people in sunlight, full of energy and joy. He was going to go lurk in his room like the miserable nocturnal thing he was before someone else tried to befriend him.

Fling and Chip looked up curiously at his return, their heavy-lidded eyes lighting up with anticipation at the sound of crinkling plastic. He scanned the room for his third visitor but Notch was gone; left through the back window to harass the local flying types or pounce on unwary kids in the grass, no doubt.

“It’s not food. I think.”

Chip grumbled and put its head down, but Fling hopped off the bed and pattered over to the couch to sit next to him as he unwrapped the basket.

“Okay, I was wrong about the food.” He pulled out the giant pinap berry that made up most of the bulk of the basket and set it aside, then tossed an oran berry over to Chip, and handed one to Fling. He popped one into his own mouth, then another, then two more, then a sitrus berry and a pecha berry before he slowed down to breathe. ...It had been a while since that mago rice.

He really was a wreck, wasn’t he? He’d been weeks into survival missions and been in better shape than this, and he just couldn’t explain it. It was like he’d run out of moves and was just going to keep struggling along until he finally ran out all together.

Take a deep breath. Keep going.

There was a package of chocolate coated nuts-- not, as the label helpfully noted, native to Alola, but naturalized instead of invasive. It went on to explain the difference and then-- yes, compare the trees they grew on to the local grimer population, that was appetizing. He was going to eat them anyway.

The rest of the stuff was fairly high-rent and made for someone who took a lot better care of themselves than he did: a heart-scale pendant and two corsola-branch beads on a woven thong, complete with passive aggressive letter that unlike some fisherman the jewelry-maker waited for luvdisc to shed their scales naturally; a coupon to a salon in Malie city that sold organic hair products, and a sample-size pot of mousse; a bottle of water bottled in ‘small sustainable doses through non-harmful methods’ out of Brooklet Hill over on Akala; a bottle of shimmering hand-lotion infused with ‘a touch of yellow nectar for that jolt of energy’.

In the bottom, pinned down by a coffee mug with the Aether logo on it, a form letter from the foundation and a group of pamphlets explaining their services and branches, and that was all.

Odd. He flipped through the glossy pamphlets, but nothing popped out at him except the obvious; this was a group who cared a little too much about pokémon welfare, were well-funded, meant well, and were probably incredibly boring to get stuck in a conversation with.

He skimmed the letter; it was dull enough that his eyes kept sliding off the text, and he flopped back on the couch with a sigh.

Fling gave him a questioning look.

“I don’t know either. They seem like the kind of group that might send baskets to people they thought were important enough. But even Interpol usually isn’t impressive to these idealistic types. And that doesn’t explain why they’d send one to me-- not now.” He was missing something, clearly. He wasn’t surprised they knew where he was; tourists were a common sight on the islands, but he wasn’t exactly a tourist, and gossip moved with extreme speed.

He picked up the form letter again, attention skipping from the committee approved mission statements and standard self-congratulation, up to the letterhead with the foundation’s elegant logo, back down to the hand-written but equally generic plea to conserve--

Wait.

_Conservation begins in the home! Small changes in your habits can make all the difference. For instance, did you know that some spray products contain chemicals that can make grass type pokémon ill? Instead of a full can of hairspray, why not use a dab of hydrating machamp-hold mousse, sold at your local salon?_

And under that, in the same handwriting, the signature and address:

 _J. Wicke_  
Junior Assistant, Aether Outreach Department  
Aether Paradise

“Fancy spy codes,” he muttered to himself, fishing out the coupon and the little sample of hair product. “Ha.”

“Mrrr?”

“The basket’s from a friend,” he told Fling. “She told me she was closer than I thought.”

He looked at the innocent contents of the basket, and the faint gleam of amusement he’d felt died.

Rich do-gooders with more resources than sense were a disaster waiting to happen, almost a more dangerous proposition than simple straightforward criminal organizations. The basket might be a joke at his expense, but it was also a crucial piece of information: the Aether Foundation was more than it seemed.

“...But what kind of connection would a pokémon conservation outfit have with the wormholes?”

“Myaw.”

“I don’t know either.”

“Mee?”

“Yeah, sure, you can play with the wrapping paper.”

* * *

He was half-napping when he heard the jeep pull up; the sound of tires on gravel was rare in Alola, and the chance of it being anything but Ramsay and his friends was slim.

He made a half-hearted attempt to get up; the bed felt much more comfortable than it really was, and leaving was so unappealing now. He’d changed into clean clothes and then putting on his boots had been strangely taxing and he hadn’t had anything else to do, so he’d lain down.

He was sleeping like an old man these days, and he wasn’t that old. Always reeling like he’d just been hit with Hypnosis.

Except that he’d been hit with Hypnosis before, and Sleep Powdered more than once in a long career, he knew what it felt like to be put to sleep on your feet. This wasn’t like that. This was something inside him-- if he cared enough he’d be able to push past the gray static, he was sure. He just must not care.

His body felt like lead as he forced himself out of bed; his eyes were weighted down with sleep, aching to shut again. No. He’d slept enough, whatever he felt like.

He glanced at himself in the mirror-- clothes clean, his dark red shirt made him look even paler than he actually was, oh well-- and combed his fingers through his limp hair to at least make it symmetrically disheveled. On a whim, he put on the necklace from the gift basket; it hung to his clavicle, half-hidden by his t-shirt. That shimmery lotion was a bridge too far, but... he might as well have made an effort. Finger-combing the little sample of mousse through his hair only made it stiff on top of being a mess, but what were you going to do.

He grabbed his wallet and room key, and then had a moment where he almost grabbed for a phantom side-arm.

No. Stop that.

It wasn’t too late to refuse. Back out. Just go back to bed and do nothing for the rest of the night.

No. Stop that, too.

He heard booted feet on the wooden porch, and pulled open the door just as Ramsay raised his fist to knock. The policeman was in the same off-duty trousers he’d been wearing earlier, but his plain t-shirt had been replaced by a motorcycle vest zipped far enough down to show that there was nothing under it but chest-hair.

“Well. At least the ride’s going to be... scenic.” It was more habit than real lechery, but he saw the little shift in Ramsay’s expression that meant it had been appreciated.

“You’re not too hard on the eyes yourself,” Ramsay said, smile-lines deepening around his eyes.

“You should see my--”

The words died in his throat. He’d stepped out onto thin air and he felt his stomach lurch as he crashed back to earth. He’d forgotten. He’d reached for the gun that wasn’t there and that was bad and he’d reached for the human partner who wasn’t there and that was worse. He could taste acid in the back of his throat.

“Nanu?” Ramsay asked gently, reaching out for his shoulder.

“Nevermind.” He slipped past the offered hand like a meowth with a grudge, ducking around Ramsay to the stairs. The jeep was pulled up into the shade from the lobby, engine idling as Ramsay’s friends waited for them. “Let’s go.”


	7. Fab Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know when you're depressed and even the things you used to enjoy just sort of suck? Isn't it the best?

Ramsay’s friend Kel turned out to be off duty officer Kela Jenny, with the unmistakable cheekbones and hair that ran true as egg moves through the bloodline of the sprawling clan. Even after a generation or five in the sun-drenched islands, you could pick it out. Just one of those funny things you noticed after living in enough regions. Not all of the family joined the force, but enough of them to make it a running joke-- like the Joys, and their benevolent pecha-pink monopoly on pokémon general practice.

The other passengers of the jeep were a fireman, Ron-- big square brick wall of a man almost as large as Ramsay-- and a slim young woman who apparently did something clerical at Aether House.

That name kept popping up, Aether. He didn’t like how it’d sprouted like an invasive weed in the years he’d been away, how everyone talked about it like it’d always been there. Loulo seemed all right, and not much like she was part of a dark research cabal-- and she probably was all right, because most people in the world were what they seemed to be and only devious bastards like Nanu suspected otherwise.

...Also on the list of things he wasn’t fond of, being the fifth passenger in a jeep built to hold four, wedged between Ramsay’s bulk and the side panel in the back. All right; it was tolerable. In other circumstances, in a state of mind where his body didn’t feel inert and useless, he might actually have enjoyed a bit of a sweaty press up against someone large wearing leather. There was a breeze through the open frame of the vehicle, and the shadow of the mountain was on them, so it was only stuffy and not unpleasantly hot. Would have been bracing if they were moving faster than a few miles an hour, but they weren’t.

You had to take Route 12 at a slow pace or not at all; there were swathes of old landslide, big old tumbled rocks that had wiped out the dry dirt path decades ago and then become part of the road themselves. The jeep crept over them under Kel’s steady guidance, but the shocks whined out a protest on every shudder and bounce. It almost made conversation impossible.

“So, new guy,” Ron started from the front passenger seat.

Almost.

“He’s from Po Town,” Ramsay pointed out reasonably. “He’s not really new.”

“Right, you said. You must have done the island challenge?” It was almost accusatory.

Nanu grunted. He really didn’t need to deal with this sort of work up-- nothing but pissing on berry trees and marking territory and staking out who the bigger man in the jeep was. It was all tedious. He was on edge, too, kept catching a glimpse of something in the grassy path that looped back and forth, toward and away from the wider road. Just a pale flash between the blades of grass now and then. Maybe it was his brain looking for intrigue where there wasn’t any.

“Plenty of local kids don’t do the trials,” Ramsay said, deftly absorbing another conversational attack for him, drawing his attention back inside the vehicle. Nanu’s lip quirked. He suspected that Ramsay was being… chivalrous at him.

KR would have approved, he thought, and tried to forget he had.  

“My girls are both doing it.” A taunt.

“My nephew isn’t going to.” Ramsay’s voice developed a warning edge. “I think that’s fine.”

“I did it,” Nanu interrupted. “Got as far as Lanakila. Then old woman Pilo handed me my rear end and sent me home.”

“I defeated the three kahunas,” Ron said, obviously pleased to have scored some kind of point. “I was a trial captain, from thirteen to nineteen.”

“Good job,” Nanu said dryly. Ron glared. People with something to prove-- it was woefully easy to trip them up. They got so irritated if you yielded.

And he was a petty bastard and he loved irritating people. He hid his smile by turning to look at the scenery-- not that this edge of the island was particularly scenic, but it was beautiful in its way, all red dust and yellowed grass and bare rock and--

\--Another flash of pale fur. What lived around here with pale fur and why was it interested in them? Mudbray were about the right size and they could be pale if their mud dried, but this didn’t move anything like a mudbray.

“Kahuna Hala knocked me out both times I tried,” Loulu said shyly, on the other side of Ramsay. “Not at Lanakila. On Melemele.”

“...how old were you?” Nanu’s attention jerked back into the jeep. He leaned forward to peer around Ramsay, looking at the slight woman with dawning horror.

“Oh, thirteen.”

Hadn’t Pilo only just handed on the mantle to her son? It couldn’t be that long ago. It was only just before he left which meant it was only-- no, it had been more than ten years now. It wasn’t that he hadn’t remembered the change-- they’d had to liaise with the three kahunas during the incursion-- but now there were grown kids who’d never had to deal with Pilo and her infuriatingly versatile electric types?

Either the kid was way too young or he was way too old.

“Why didn’t you try a third time?”

Ramsay inhaled so deeply that his chest pressed Nanu against the side panel again. “Ron, not everyone wants to be a pro trainer, we’ve talked about this--”

The jeep dipped into a rut, pitching it to one side so hard that Ramsay had to grab the frame to keep from crushing Loulu, and Ron fell hard into his seatbelt with a satisfying grunt.

“So, you hear about that sighting of the Tapu a few days ago?” Kel asked, steering them back up onto the road and onto a new subject.

“Just some hiker who didn’t drink enough water,” Ron muttered sullenly.

“No, one of the Foundation’s rescue team saw it too. She told me. A dark figure flying above the desert with a mist around it,” Loulu argued.

“And my cousin saw it out on the sea during the storm a few months back,” Kel put in. “So maybe it’s stirring again.”

“I saw the mist the other night,” Ramsay said. “...You know, the flowers always pick up a little after we get a rain or something, but I swear it was more than that. The day flowers bloomed nearly two hours early. You think it really might have been-- Nanu, you all right?”

“Uh.”  

The policeman shifted as much as he could in the other direction, which wasn’t much. “Sorry, do you have enough room? You look pale.”

A rude snort from the front passenger seat, easily ignored. Dumb rumors also ought to be easily ignored, but his brain had latched onto the idea and he’d thought he’d put it behind him, that odd dream.

It hadn’t felt like a dream.

But it had to have been.

“Just-- a little overheated. I’m fine.”

“Right.” Ramsay paused, and then picked up a conversation with Loulu about some slowpoke conservation effort or another. His hand fell on Nanu’s leg as if by accident, easy to get tangled up as close as they were sitting, but there was a reassuring squeeze, there and gone, not lingering long enough to be rude or pushy.

Chivalry. As if he needed it.

He turned out, propped his arm on the open window frame and shut himself off from any more conversation.

There were two murkrow up on one of the boulders that cut the main road off from the hiking path, and in the evening shadows of Blush and Lanakila it was hard to make out details, but he would swear at least one of them had been giving him the side-eye all the way back at the motel, hours ago.

The grass twitched on the walking trail, and a sleek pale form bounded weightlessly out of the blades and up to the top of the boulder. The two flying types fluttered and settled, as if they’d been expecting the intrusion.

The other passengers of the jeep argued obliviously and he stared silently up at the pokémon that’d taken such an interest.

The wild absol peered back down at him, its too-human face curious, white fur ruffling gently in the evening breeze.

They weren’t bad pokémon, whatever the superstition said; people said they caused disasters, but people in the general plural were idiots. Might as well say fireman caused fires since you always found them nearby when one was happening.

Even if you knew that, they were intimidating-- seclusive, rare, and you definitely didn’t get them on Blush mountain or anywhere nearby. This one would have needed to have come all the way down from Lanakila. There was something expectant in those intelligent dark eyes that made him feel like he was two steps behind in a conversation he’d been unaware he was having.

It tipped its head, asymmetrical horn tracing an arc in the air, and then turned and plunged back off the rock, vanishing into the shadows.

...He was starting to wonder if there was a sign pinned to his back or something.

  
  


* * *

They left Kel’s jeep at the police station and walked the few blocks to the Two Queens. Kel offered to drop Ron and Loulu off at the front door, but they’d both declined, and Nanu had to admire the easy pace Ron kept in his high platforms. He made it look easy, but Nanu knew how much work it took to look that effortless, especially navigating cobbled and patterned pavement like you got in Malie.

Loulu had an easier time of it, the heels on her sandals were pretty low, but Kel still offered her arm at the rough patches. Wasn’t that adorable.

Kel was an interesting one. He’d met a lot of the extended Jenny line in his time, and unless the not-quite-unofficial Alolan uniform had changed significantly in the past few months, she stood out a bit in the family photos.

She cocked an eyebrow at him and he tipped his chin up at her hair, only a little longer than his but styled with a lot more care. “Unova?”

“Just back from specialist training.” She nodded with her chin. “Three months of tactical pokemon battling.”

“I did that course, when I started at Interpol. Mistralton city? Miles still teaching it?”

“No, our teacher was a normal-type specialist-- Lenora.”

He whistled quietly. “That up-and-comer in Nacrene? Heard good things about her.”

“All true. She really kicked our tails. But Gumshoos and I learned a lot.”

“Yeah.”

She grinned at him, just openly happy to have found something in common, and it left him feeling like he’d somehow promised her a lot more than he had to give. He could feel it settling around him, blocking him off from her friendship, like he’d used Light Screen by accident and now every interaction was bouncing off him at half strength. He ought to come with a warning sign, ‘cannot maintain friendly conversation for long’, so people didn’t get their hopes up.

Some of the city was shutting down around them, daytime stalls closing even as the night markets would be opening up on other streets, but the bars and restaurants were just starting to fill, laughter spilling out of open doors and torches being lit.

The Two Queens was off in the northern corner of the city, tucked in with its back facing the ocean and its eastern wall nudging up against the wall of the big Gardens, all open plan and dark, stained wood. Malie’s oldest Costume Queen bar, founded by an immigrant from Johto generations ago. Local history said his own battle partners had posed for the sign, two nidoqueen back to back with tails linked.

There was a healthy crowd inside already, and the music spilling out was the same rhythmic stuff he’d danced to as a kid. Synthesized Kalosian discotheque stuff. Classics.

“Alola, Palai,” Ramsay called, stepping up behind him and tracing the traditional greeting in the air above Nanu’s head as they reached the door. One of his hands came to rest warm and heavy on the small of Nanu’s back.

“Alola, all,” the Costume Queen at the door warbled sweetly, fluttering a lace fan at them. “How’s my favorite muscle type doing? Ooh, hello, who’s the new pretty-boy?”

“This is Nanu. Nanu, Palai--”

“Don’t I know you?” The queen’s eyelashes were as thickly laced as her fan, framing a heavy shadow job, but Nanu could still make out the dark eyes narrowing as she focused on him.

Now his sluggish brain was back in gear and he was remembering how to identify facial features through a disguise instead of just blink stupidly. Time and makeup both had changed the shape of cheekbones, eyebrows, chin, but no, he knew this one.

“...you were working the door here fifteen years ago, right?”

“How very dare you?” But it came softened with a laugh. “Oh, wait-! That’s right, I remember those eyes. Your hair was darker.”

“You were wearing less chiffon.”  

“Welcome back!”

Ron, Kel, and Loulu waved their hellos as they squeezed by and headed inside, Ron getting a kiss on the cheek as he passed-- they fit in like regulars, and out of the corner of his eye he watched them disperse, Loulu bee-lining to the bar, Kel following easily behind her, Ron mingling with a group of people who were obviously familiar with him. _This isn’t an operation, stop letting your attention wander off and pay attention to the people talking to you--_

“He’s been away, but he’s back to the island for at least a while,” Ramsay was saying.

“Oh, is he that International Policeman I’ve been hearing about?”

Nanu’s shoulder’s slumped and he leaned back into Ramsay’s supporting hand with a groan.

“Sorry, darling,” Palais said, spreading her fan coyly over her large, laughing grin. “I promise we’ve heard nothing but good things.”

“It’s only been three days.”

Palais leaned in for a stage whisper. “Ramsay’s a gossip.”

“Now someone tells me.”

The queen winked at him. “Well, head on in, you two. And welcome home, sweetheart! You really grew into those cheekbones, didn’t you?”

“Nn.”

“This one’s got a lonely nature,” Ron said, taking his rudeness in stride. “I’m going to find us a quiet corner.”

“With the pageant tonight? Good luck.”

“I was Interpol. I know how to use a distraction,” Nanu muttered.

“Oooh,” Palai mimed intrigue as she ushered them in.

It was the same inside. Well, not entirely. It was bigger, he could tell right away that they’d pushed back enough to double the original space, and must have gone right up against the Gardens’ west wall to gain a few extra steps distance on the one side, enough to build in a new stage with lighting gear. There looked to be a patio now, too, the back wall open to the disappearing golden sunlight and the shadows of the crowd.

But yeah. It was the same.

He took a deep breath, glancing up at the lines of lanterns strung along the rafters, and Ramsay leaned down to speak to him, although it really wasn’t loud enough to need to, even with the music playing and the conversations happening around them. “So, how’s the old club? Like you remembered?”

Club. He’d thought so too once. This place had been a glimpse at a sleeker, shinier, greater world. Then he’d seen the actual rest of the world world. They’d tried with the Two Queens-- the renovation, what was clearly a relatively modern and high-powered sound system, the new stage. But the old half-treated wood, the warm light and decorations cobbled together from fishing net and found treasures.... Well. Nobody would call it a club anywhere else, but this was Alola.

“Smaller.”

“They’ve expanded!”

“I know. Still smaller.” It wasn’t even like he was much bigger. “When did they renovate?”

The bar was bigger now, too, he could see as Ramsay gently steered them towards it. “A couple years ago now, five maybe? Yeah, five. The new management got lucky in the lottery on Melemele-- put the winnings into fixing the place up.”

“New management?”

Ramsay laughed. “Just old Queenie’s grandson, after he got back from his journey.”

“Patio’s new.”

“Yeah, they put it in at the same time-- it’s nice, Bit windy this time of year but there’s enough land shelter to keep anything but a bad storm at bay. They roast a feast out there sometimes. Let me grab you a drink and we can check it out before the revue starts-- what do you take?”

Ramsay had managed to clear them a path almost to the bar, and was smiling down at Nanu with an open, easy expression.

Nanu scanned the shelves and the specials on the chalkboard-- rainbow chalk, of course, with a list of drink names ranging from coy to blatantly unimaginative. “A Press?” He could just make out the faded Halucha label in the fridge; it was a standard Kalosian import beer, better than the Unovan stuff, but not so fancy it was going to cost much more for a bottle. “And I get the second round.”

“Deal,” Ramsay bumped him forward casually, that big warm hand finding its way to his back for another moment as they joined the queue of patrons and queens. It was a nice club; it was a nice night out with some really nice people. And maybe he’d just been away too long or come back too broken, because he was starting to think he just couldn’t do nice anymore.

Esperanza had been right. How _was_ he from here? It was nice here.

An older queen in front of them in line shimmied to the end chorus of the song playing, and caught him in the shoulder with the tail-train of her towering, rustling, exeggutor-inspired gown.

“Ah! Sorry, pokedoll-face,” she said, spinning around so quickly that the ice cubes in her mostly empty glass began a miniature avalanche.

She wasn’t a threat. Genuinely drunk, genuine apology; the chances of someone with enough training and natural deception picking here and now to make him drop his guard were too slim-- he shot his arm out and tipped the glass in her hand upright again before anything could crash to the floor.

“--Oh,” she said, taking a slow, inebriated blink to process. “Gracious, jiggly-stuff, do you do everything that fast? What does your beau think of-- Ramsay!” She reached over Nanu’s head and caught Ramsay in a hug, Nanu side-stepping to avoid being squished between them.

“Tapu slept, Glamwow,” said her companion. “Can we go a week without a dress-related fatality?”

The draconian cosqueen ignored her, too busy pinching Ramsay's cheeks.

Her friend, in less space-consuming black leather and tulle, turned to Nanu and gave him a long, thorough once-over. "So, Ramsay, is this why you've been single for so long? Waiting to encounter a shiny boyfriend?"

Well, that was one of the cuter ways he'd ever heard it put.

"He's been a gentleman so far. I don't think he's making a play to catch me."

"Shame. He's overdue for a little close combat, if you get my drift. I'm Baby Playrough." She extended a big hand daintily wrapped in a black lace fingerless glove. "At least, that's what all the boys say when they see me."

"Ma'am." He bowed over her knuckles. "I'm Nanu."

"Gardenia?" The cosqueen lofted a brow. "I hardly know ya."

He gave her half of a toothy smile. "I don't bite."

"Not interested, then." She winked. "I don't recognize you. Are you from Aether too, like the other new kids?"

"...no."

"Do I spy the face of disapproval? Oh, excellent. We're going to be friends."

"If you're not a fan, you're the first I've met."

"I'm not saying they aren't welcome. Some of them are very sweet. Loulu's a good girl."

"Yeah." His eyes flicked over to the bar, where Loulu and Kel were deep in each other's space, half-monopolising one of the bartenders. "Not sure how she got tangled up with the cops, but a good girl."

"Mmmm." Playrough's eyes lidded, her dark lips pursing just slightly as if she had tasted something sour. "They're just sort of involved all over the place these days. It's harmless, I suppose, their little no-catch slowpoke preserve project. But they're just so ... omnipresent. High, mighty, principled, self-righteous...young..."

"I'm getting that. I'd never heard of them when I left. And now here they are. Everywhere."

"You are a native son, then. Shiny coloration or not, I thought I could tell." She nodded, satisfied. "This island? Route 11 residential area, maybe?"

"Po Town."

"Ooh, a spoiled little rich boy, even better. Where've you been?"

"I could tell you. But I'd have to kill you."

"Oh! The Interpol officer."

"Is there anyone on the island Ramsay hasn't told?"

"Go easy on him. I got it from the evening-shift bellhop at the hotel."

"...because you're the early-shift bellhop. That's why your callouses are in that pattern." He'd been wondering. He also shouldn't have said that out loud.

She tucked her hands protectively into her bountiful fake cleavage. "I have no such thing, you terrible little man."

"You've got hands like sharpedo hide, Baby," her friend put in. Glamwow and Ramsay had been watching the back and forth with amusement.

Ramsay shot him a smile. "You couldn't learn Charm if it bit you, could you?"

"Don't have it in me. Completely incompatible," Nanu agreed.

"Don't listen to her about Aether," Glamwow added. "She's just sore because their little junior researcher keeps beating her protégé in the beauty pageants."

"Gothita Lei is a little hack and when she loses those good looks she's going to be up against a wall," Playrough said crisply. "Because she doesn't know how to apply anything but lipgloss and mascara. She couldn't transform a castform in the rain."

"You're the bitterest malasada," her friend cooed.

"Whore."

"Shade type."

"If you two are just going to flirt, get out of the line and let the rest of us get our drinks," Ramsay said, amused.

"Oh, fine. Go woo your charmless agent."  Playrough tossed her head, severe ponytail flicking forward like a whip. "I'm going to find a place to watch the pageant. Goodbye, you bitter little flower, I’ll see you around. Glam, bring me a High Roller."

Nanu shot her a lazy salute.

Someone started running a mic check on the stage-- some of the worst pokémon puns he’d heard in a long time, but the crowd was happy to cheer and boo indiscriminately, Glamwow in front of them just as cheerfully as everyone else.

The line was moving slowly, not that anyone minded. Well, except him. Not that he had anything else to do, but the crowd was starring to build, and the noise of it, and he’d obviously been alone with the meowth for too long because he’d been in Kantonian grocery stores that were more packed than this without getting jumpy.

He leaned back, bumping up against Ramsay as a happy group walked by unsteadily, one young man on the edge barely balancing on his mudsdale-inspired boots. 1000P said they were coming off before the intermission.

The thought fell flat with no one there to pass it to.

He could do this. He knew how to do this. He’d needed a drink for a while. When was the last time he’d really relaxed and had a drink with friends…?

 

__”If I can’t contain them and I can’t help them then why am I here, Double-oh Nothing?”_ _

_“You have been invaluable. You are keeping us alive, Esperanza.”_

_“I want to hear it from him, KR. I want to know why Interpol sent me on this-- killing spree.”_

_“I’m so sorry, if we had another choice--”_

_“Is your name 000? Hah. Stupid question. Nobody’s name is 000. It’s a dumb spy number.”_

_“So is 100KR.”_

_“At least you have letters. Like a real name.”_

_“You’re both drunk.”_

_“Not as drunk as I’m about to be.”_

_“Interpol’s not reimbursing you for any of this. Think about that before you invest in another hangover.”_

_“I’m not paying for it. Where I’m from it’s traditional for the local to pay for drinks.”_

_“You’ve got fucking amnesia. You don’t know where you’re from or what your traditions are.”_

_“Neither do you. It could be true. It could be a religious custom. You can’t be sure I’m wrong.”_

_“Until yesterday you didn’t know where I was from!”_

_“But I do now. And you were born right here in this tourist trap. Which means you’re buying.”_

_“This is garbage. Last time it was ‘shortest drinker pays’. Which, conveniently, was also me”_

_“But what if it is true, Triple Zero? We might be blaspheming if you do not pay.”_

_“Whose side are you on, KR?”_

_“Only the side of justice, my friend. And free drinks.”_

_“Attaboy, One-Hundred.”_

_“Go to hell, Esperanza.”_

 

“I might need something stronger than beer,” he said abruptly. Something to burn the old memories loose for a while; the last thing he needed was to mope around in the past.

“Yeah?” Ramsay paused. “You know what, I have an idea. Glam, hold our spot?”

He steered Nanu away with a hand between the shoulderblades, acting like a windbreak between him and the crowd as they slid along the bar over to Loulu, who was about half into an icy glass of something amber colored and leafy.

“Line’s too long and Nanu needs fortifying. Give him a swig of your Wood Hammer.”

“I can’t take her--”

“Oh, it’s alright, this is my third one. I should be pacing myself anyway.” The slim woman beamed at him and passed him the tumbler.

Well, if everyone was conspiring to be generous he wasn’t going to waste time arguing. He took a drink.

“--huahh.” He sucked in a breath. Ooh, that burned. “Don’t skimp on the bourbon, do they?”

“Nope! That’s why this bar’s my favorite,” she giggled.

She was an infant and she weighed about five kilo, how was she still upright and conscious? He took another sip-- still flammable-- and passed the drink back. It had helped. “Thanks.”

“How’s that?” Ramsay asked.

“Keep me away from the torches. Everything might go up if I breathe on one.”

“That’s the spirit,” Ramsay clapped his shoulder. “Glam’s waving-- I’ll be right back with our drinks.”

“Thanks. I’ll find a spot.”

As it happened, one had been found for them; Ron was sitting in a back corner with friends, legs propped ostentatiously on two chairs, ankles crossed just enough to show off how good his calves looked in his shoes. He waved as he saw Nanu scan the room, even found an honest smile somewhere in there.

Well, it seemed that when the topic wasn’t pokemon battles, even Ron had a little civility. One up on Nanu, then.

Ron swung his legs off the chairs once Nanu had made his way over, stiletto heels clicking as they hit the ground under the table. He introduced his friends quickly, who all smiled and said hello, and happily fell back into the comfortable conversations they had already been having. Maybe Ron had warned them ahead of time.

“Loulu still at the bar?” Ron asked as Nanu sat.

“Drinking them out of stock. Sorry, we should have asked if you wanted something. I’m not--”

Good at this. He used to be. Could manage situations. Now he was falling over his own feet and pissing people off without even meaning to-- and it was only fun when you meant to.

“It’s kind of crowded tonight,” said Ron, and he was trying to be sympathetic, but no it wasn’t. It wasn’t crowded, it wasn’t that loud, this was nothing, he’d been in Kalosian discos where he and KR had to hand-sign…

And that was half the problem, obviously. He and KR had lived in each other’s pockets for more than half a decade and he’d underestimated how much he relied on the younger man, socially and otherwise. KR and he had covered each other’s weak spots and that had left him painfully unprepared for just how weak some of his spots were.

He sounded more than a little like a teenager lamenting a breakup, but dammit they’d had years of working relationship and if he was feeling a little shaken he was allowed.

“...you still in there?” Ron was frowning. “Ramsay said you got stuck in your head sometimes, but--”

“Ramsay says a lot, apparently,” he bit out.

“It’s not like that.” Ron’s shoulders went back. “Look, he’s just looking out for you.”

“I know.”  Nanu clawed his fingers through his hair-- ugh, he’d forgot he’d put Jane’s damn mousse in. “...I know. I appreciate it.”

“Look, did something happen when you were in the Internationa-”

Nanu gave him a look that shut him up. At least he still had that.

The silence, term used loosely given the chatter around them, went awkward-- but then Ramsay was back, with an icy bottle of beer for Ron that must be his usual, a nicer import bottle for himself, and Nanu’s bottle on a bar tray.

He slid into the empty chair between them, pretending (relatively competently, but not enough to fool Nanu) that he couldn’t sense the tension.

“Show’s about to start.”

Ron muttered something. Ramsay kicked his chair leg.

Nanu took a deep drink of his beer and tried to re-orient himself.

It didn’t take. The lights went down a few notches, a dignified old cosqueen strutted out to MC, something about a talent show, pageant, so on, so forth, he knew the drill.

The first contestant was the much maligned Gothita Lei-- and shade it might have been, but Baby Playrough knew what she was talking about. He could see through the minimal makeup and the generic padding and see that Ms. Lei had been blessed with excellent cheekbones, natural blonde hair, and the body-fat percentage of a tree-branch. She was barely trying. Dress good, lip-sync and dance only basic. A pretty man in a well-sewn dress, with a coterie of very thirsty fans.

“Dull-ass water type queen,” Ron muttered, jaw set defiantly. “I can’t believe she’s reigning champ.”

Nanu raised his bottle in a toast.

Gothita surrendered the stage after what seemed like forever to big mountain of a queen in pink tulle, the MC announcing Darling Playnice. And if the name wasn’t a giveaway as to what costume lineage she was from, Baby Playrough’s maternal shouts of approval were.

He leaned forward. The contouring of the makeup had changed the shape of that face dramatically-- and fifteen years had changed it more.

“I know her.”

“You do?” Ramsay sounded surprised. “You can tell? You’re a handy guy to have around.”

“Basic facial recognition was one of our first classes. You folks should do it.” People didn’t look at faces, not really, didn’t retain much of them. Disguise, as an art, was lamentably simple. People were too trusting. Slap on a wig and the right hat and you could walk into anywhere, nearly.

But Darling Playnice wasn’t in disguise. She was in transformation. Costume royalty wasn’t about men looking like women, or women looking like men, or humans looking like pokemon. It was about going beyond that, about becoming a glorious Other. He shouldn’t be trying to peel back the layers to figure out how the magic happened.

On the other hand--

“...He lived two houses down from me. We went to school together. Look at him, he’s been taking his protein, he used to be rail thin. I wonder if he still trains steel types.”

“You two should catch up.” There was just a shade of wistfulness in Ramsay’s voice.

Nanu sighed. He needed to hit this head on. Otherwise he felt like he was leaving Ramsay in the wind. It was embarrassing, but: “It’s not that you’re not my type. It’s not you. It’s not him either. I just-- they shipped my libido home with the rest of my stuff, but it’s lost in the mail.”

“Ah. Some of the guys in the coastal rescue squad, they get like that.” Sympathetic. “The flirting-- too much?”

“Nah. I like it. Always did better one on one.”

“I’m glad.”

“I told you I was going to be shit company tonight.”

“You did. Means a lot to me that you tried.”

“I’ll try to stick it out to the end of the pageant, at least. I owe you a round.”

Ramsay nodded, and slung that possessive arm around his seat back. “Use your super-powers. Tell me who’s hiding a five-o’clock shadow.”

“It’s not much of a trick. Look, I’ll show you--”

  
  


And it was nice for the first few acts, but it tapered off, and the conversation slid away. Ron joined in, some of Ron’s friends, and the tropics drifted and Nanu felt himself drifting too, losing track of one act ending and the next beginning.

_Come on. You love a good beauty revue, you like judging people. Just enjoy this. What’s wrong with you?_

He felt overheated, he’d gone through his bottle and then a couple glasses of water from the free-floating pitchers that got passed around, and the motion around him grated on his senses. Why couldn’t he do this? The parade of bright dresses was a blur, the comedy act on stage was going in and out like a badly tuned radio again.

Fifty conversations going on at once and he felt completely alone. His eyes kept flicking to the exit, and not out of training, either.

Well, Ramsay was about to learn a lesson about counting on him to follow through.

He took a breath and slid his chair back, quiet, noise masked by the music, rolled his weight onto his feet slowly and stood up.

A thumb hooked through his belt loop and stopped him; Ramsay’d noticed him moving. Local island cop one, trained Interpol agent zero.

“Something up?” Ramsay asked, as quietly as he could. There was sudden roar of laughter that masked the conversation, the comedy act landing one hell of a joke. Not that he’d heard any of it. Good thing he was a joke himself.

“Ah...”

“You’re heading out.” Not a question. “You want me to come with?”

He shook his head. “Let Kel know I don’t need a ride. I’ll see you around.”

“You will,” Ramsay promised. His big hand cupped Nanu’s hip, then slid away. “Take care of yourself.”

“Sure.” Not likely.

Ramsay looked like he knew it was a lie, too, but let him go with a worried look.

He managed to get past Palai at the door without being seen, so he wasn’t completely useless, but he still felt clumsy and a size too big for his skin. The warm night air didn’t help, nothing like the chill he would have relied on in Virbank to at least get his mind going in one direction. He slipped past the evening street fair, ducked a couple of drunk tourists, and let his feet take him toward the police station and the Malie Gardens.

He’d always loved the gardens. He could sit down in there and be alone, and nobody would bother him….

Everything felt muffled again, the cotton-guard of his own discontent closing around his senses. The gardens were beautiful and it was slipping off of him. He moved on auto-pilot toward the seats around a shuttered-up snack shop, only dimly aware that the light on the decorative streams was beautiful and that the wind in the grass was soothing.

He was sinking back into his head again and he didn’t want to be there. He’d give anything to be back at the motel, but it seemed impossibly far away now and dammit, this had all been a mistake--

“Hey, fool!”

It wasn’t quite a cold shower, but the voice dragged him out of his head a little bit. He scanned the shadowy gardens with eyes that seemed to be tracking half-speed, and found the source of the voice, a figure half-concealed behind the snack shop.

“Walked over the wrong bridge, old man,” said a second voice.

Well, he thought, without any urgency. This could be bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! That's definitely a really threatening stranger who poses a real danger to Nanu. Definitely.


	8. Make new friends

“Get out your wallet, old man.” 

He stopped on the bridge-- not a freeze, you never froze. But he went still and calm, settling into a slouch he knew put people off their guard, and assessed. His brain was starting to untangle itself and function again, only about ten minutes too late. 

Two figures were emerging from the shadow of the snack shop; one tall and lanky, another closer to his height and broader. His eyes flicked across the garden around them, as much as he could-- he itched to look behind him, but kept his head forward and slightly down. 

Just the two of them, as far as he could see; no shadows where there shouldn’t be, no silhouettes lurking in the shadow of the snack shop, nothing too big rustling the grass, no shift of cloth or clink of metal or stifled breathing in the moist evening heat. No witnesses. No bystanders waiting to make themselves a target. Just him and them and the quiet garden.

“You want to pass through, you’d better be ready to battle! And I don’t see any pokeballs, so I’d better see some cash.” 

The voice was young. The face of the taller figure, as she stepped into the golden light, was younger. 

Tapus guard them all, she couldn’t be more than sixteen, and the shorter boy swaggering up next to her was a year older than that at best. They were kids. 

They were doing their best to strike an imposing picture, her with her arms crossed and feet wide, him in a ‘fighting stance’, phrase used loosely, the kind you only saw in bad television. Honestly, a Malie boy should know better. Some fighting instructor should have taken pity at some point and taught him to stand so that Nanu couldn’t push him over sideways with two fingers. 

They were both in loose canvas pants; the girl’s looked like they might be actual traditional shitabaki, but they were also for someone about twice as broad in the hips as she was. Ditto the boy’s cheap robe.

The belts cinching up their baggy clothes were both white, and honestly, if the kids were going to look like a Sawk and Throh comedy duo anyway, they might as well aim a little higher. They wore one pokeball each on those white belts, and both had the same white cloth headband, with a mark in the center that he couldn’t quite make out in the gloom-- 

He squinted. No, he knew that symbol. A stylized S mocked up into a human skull.  

He was being mugged by the Skulls. 

The sheer absurdity of it hit him dead on, blasting away the shreds of confusion and apathy. Everything felt clearer around him. The gardens were beautiful and Malie City was wonderful and these stupid kids thought they could scare him and the night was going to be okay. 

“Yo, you gonna stare all night, creep? Make with the money.” 

“Yeah, old dude. Better pay the bridge toll. 500P or you taste the pain.” 

He was being mugged by the Skulls for 500P.

He’d been in cities where you couldn’t get a decent cup of coffee for 500P.  

It wasn't going to be in his top ten muggings. Couldn't hold a candle to that one time those poachers gave him a double-dose of mamoswine-tranquilizer and left him for dead in the snow, or that other time he was abandoned tied to a post in the Orre flatlands miles from water or shelter. 

Once he and 100KR had to immobilize an angry skarmory without their pokémon. A street tough in Lumiose had left him with a nasty slice across the back; Nanu had left the tough with a broken jaw. He'd come out of a scuffle against half a dozen organized Rocket grunts with three cracked ribs and six arrests.

These kids thought they could take him. Bless their stupid little hearts, it was absolutely adorable. 

“You know, when I left the islands, you guys were still slicking back your hair and running underground oricorio boxing matches,” he said as mildly as he could.

The girl puffed her scrawny chest. “The Skulls are with the time, yo!” 

Well. That time was about a century ago in Kanto and surrounding regions, and at least ten years ago in Unovan street culture. But it was certainly a time. That they were with. 

The girl snatched the pokeball from her belt and threw it straight up into the air. “Zubat! Show this fool our beats.” 

Her pokémon popped out in a burst of light; the little poison-type squeaked gamely, mean-mugging as hard as something with no eyes could. 

He was being _mugged by the Skulls_. 

He looked at the two rangy teenagers and their defiant little zubat and started to chuckle helplessly; a wheezing, coughing laugh that forced its way out despite his best attempts to keep a straight face. 

When he was twelve he'd been terrified of the Skulls. The local ‘gang’. Which was a word you could only apply to them out of charity, or if you didn’t know any better; they weren’t a gang. They were a thin handful of discontented kids with no leadership and no mission statement besides ‘be a nuisance’, using the symbols of an old rebellion without understanding it, intimidating only to kids small enough to be mugged for their pocket change. Oh, they’d scared him, all right. What a little idiot he’d been. 

He couldn’t stop laughing and wasn’t sure he wanted to to, because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy. Even as his chest started to hurt from the convulsions and his cheeks ached from grinning a rictus grin, as his eyes teared up and he fought to keep himself from doubling over.

"What's wrong with you, old man?" the girl asked, with a quaver in her voice. She looked halfway to cutting and running. She hadn’t expected him to be crazy, obviously. 

"Do you want an itemized list, or what?" he managed, but that set him off again.

"Yo, he's crazy. We should leave," urged the boy.

"Yo, we never give up!"

"We both gave up the island challenge, though," the boy pointed out matter-of-factly.

The kids were going to do what no other criminal organization had managed; they were going to kill him. Of asphyxiation. Because he couldn't breathe and he was still shaking with silent laughter. Why hadn’t any of the-- no, he couldn’t say ‘other’. What hadn’t any of the _actual_ criminals he’d met known to use Tickle? Seemed like an untapped strategy. It really was a dangerous position to be in, his eyes were tearing up which meant his vision was compromised, and he was halfway to immobilized, leaning over with his shoulders heaving and one hand braced on one of the ornamental posts that lined the bridge.

"Old dude, are you dying?"

Maybe. He shrugged, since talking would have required a control over his lungs he didn’t have.

"...We should call someone."

"We should take his wallet," said the girl, more of a mercenary. Then: "...and call someone if he passes out."

"I'm fine," he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes with a shaking hand. "I'm not dying. If I give you 500P, will you fuck off?" The kids had more than earned it. This was the best thing that had happened to him in weeks.

"...yeah?" the girl said, eyes flicking left and right suspiciously.

"Here you go." He reached for his wallet, flipping it open, still trembling with laughter so hard that the coins in the zipped pocket jangled faintly. "Successful mugging. Good job."

"That's an ID badge," the boy said. Sharp eye. More observant than Nanu would have given either of them credit for. "He's a cop. Kou, he's a cop!"

"What? Crap. Is this some kind of sting?"

The girl jerked away, openly searching for a retreat, but the kids been staking out the central bridge, and that meant they were on an island with only the closed snack shop for cover in fifty yards in any direction but straight through him. Not great planning.

Also not great to have a couple of idiots and their poison type panicking. That was the thought that sobered him up, gave him some control over his lungs back. The kids were barely a threat to him, but he wasn’t sure he could take the pair of them and the zubat without having to hurt one of them.

He pulled himself together, settling back into a slouch, hands in sight and tucked close to his body. Both of the little would-be criminals were too rattled to notice, though; they were moving quickly past the point of de-escalation.

Should have kept a straight face. Some professional he was. 

"Easy. Your buddy has good eyes but he failed to spot the big red letters that said 'retired'. I'm not here to roll you."

"Says you! Zubat, poison sting-!"

So this was happening, then. He shifted one foot backward, keeping his arms loose and at his side, prepared to grab the pokémon if it got too close. _Fast but small. Sidestep, avoid the fangs. Be prepared for a supersonic; that's a nasty headache but keep your balance and focus on its trajectory. Grab the base of the neck, behind the body, hold it facing away at arm's length and it'll be helpless--_

It didn't even get close to him; it started to dive and a little ray of cold energy burst past Nanu, raising painful goosebumps on the side of his neck. The beam caught the zubat mid-flight, knocking it off-course. It flapped in staggery little spirals, desperately trying to dislodge the ice crystals that had formed on its wings and sensitive ears, and wound up plowing into its trainer instead, beating her chest with its membranous wings and shrieking.

"Zubat! Zubat, it's okay!” She caught it, trying to steady it without hurting it as it flailed against her. 

It sank its teeth into her arm in its panic and Nanu could hear her hiss of pain, but her voice only shook a little as she soothed it. "Yeah, champ. Yeah, buddy! Just an ice beam, you're okay. You're okay."

Nanu turned, looking for his rescuer-- the garden was empty and the grass was still, but there was a rime of ice on the water below the bridge. A horn broke through it, followed by a bucktoothed, wall-eyed face.

"Seaking!" the pokémon said, splashing cheerfully.

He could almost swear he knew it, but what were the odds--

The second little hooligan came stumbling to the bridge railing. He looked near tears, vibrating with indignance. Instead of reaching for the ball on his belt, he shoved a hand into his pocket and hurled whatever he found there at the water-type below. A hard stone and some loose change, by the look of things, in defiance of the 'no coins in the streams' signs. None of it hit the seaking, who vanished with a little plop into the shadowy water.

"You didn't say you had pokémon, you-- cop!" The boy hauled back and took a wild swing, which Nanu knocked away with a sweep of his arm.

"I don't." Nanu fixed him with a glare that stopped him midway through the windup of another no-doubt incompetent punch. "And I'm retired. How's your friend."

"Kou?"

"Zubat's not doing so good," the girl said. The shake in her voice was more audible. Hard to see, might just be the shadows of the golden lamps, but she looked flushed, and the hand resting protectively over her bedraggled zubat was unsteady. Despite the warmth of the night, she was starting to shiver.

"Alright, kids. This was fun, but it's gone far enough. We're going to the Pokémon Center."

“Hell no! We’re going nowhere with you!” 

"Yeah! Whaddya gonna do, drag us?” 

He straightened up. He wasn't big-- couldn't do the friendly loom that other tall bastards in the IPD could-- but he knew what he looked like in the dark. The kids shrank back.

"Are you going to make me?"

* * *

They made a sorry looking group as they trooped into the Pokémon Center; one unhappy adult holding two unhappy kids by the backs of their shirts, one kid sort of protesting just enough to not look like he was along for the ride willingly, the other clutching a pokéball to her chest, shivering and going an unhealthy dark-red colour as the poison worked through her system.

The on-duty nurse dropped her magazine and bounced to her feet. "Oh my goodness--"

" _Bliss_ ey," her assistant interjected, scandalized.

"Yeah, yeah, we've all had an exciting night."

"Sir, are these your children?"

"What?" said nameless dumb child number one. "No!"

"As if! He's a cop," stuttered named dumb child number two, alias Kou. 

"They're both idiots and she's poisoned," Nanu said, which should take care of the introductions.

The blissey hustled out from behind the desk to tut over Kou's arm, gently examining the inflamed bite-mark and the angry red veins that webbed away from it.

"I'm f-fine," she said, defiantly, trying to push the pokémon away-- with all the success you'd expect, given that your average blissey had the inertia of a friendly pink building. Kou thrust her pokéball at the nurse. "Lady, you gotta fix up Zubat, she's hurt bad."

"Of course!" She caught sight of the pokéball on the boy's hip. "And yours, is it hurt?"

" **NO**."

They all stared at the boy, who seemed as surprised by his angry shout as the rest of them. Then, to the equal horror of everyone involved, he started to sob.

"Blissey?" the pokémon asked gently, turning to put a hand on his arm. He shook it off and made a dash for the door, brought up short when Nanu caught the back of his shirt again.

"We'll be in the cafe," he told the nurse. "Patch up dumbass two and send her back, I'll get them something to eat while you take care of her 'bat."

"Sir, that's not a name to call a child!"

"Who's a child, I'm s-s-sixteen!" Which lost some of its punch coming through chattering teeth.

"Sorry. Idiot two."

"Sir!"

"C'mon, idiot one." Nanu steered the now-unresisting boy away, toward the cafe seating area and away from the appalled nurse and unimpressed blissey.

The boy went limp as soon as there was a chair under him; the sobbing had tapered off to a trickle, but the tears were still running freely. For both of their sakes, Nanu pretended he couldn't see it. It wasn’t that the idea of just leaving the kids to their own devices hadn’t crossed his mind, but... honestly, he owed them both one. This fiasco was still better than any plans he’d had for the rest of the evening. 

He made a show of studying the cafe menu from his seat. At least the Pokemon Center was mostly empty, just soft yellow light and quiet, no one else there but the man at the cafe counter and a trainer having a call over at a video terminal.

He cleared his throat. "Looks like they got, what-- tea, milk, lemonade, some pastry... what's your order?"

"Don't do me any favors, old man." And then a sniffle.

"Fine. Don't get pissy if you don't like it, now."

He kept half an eye on the boy as he went to order, but the fight had gone out of him; he was just sitting in his seat and clasping the pokéball over his hip. Nanu ordered three teas-- the air conditioning inside made a hot drink almost welcome, and it'd be good for the girl's system if she didn't duck out on them.

"Something to eat?" the attendant asked, as he fished out his wallet.

"Sure. Three. Of... whatever's sweet."

"And these, for your pokémon, on the house." The attendant passed him a wax paper bag full of pokébeans, and a plate with three decorated shortbreads in a stack. "I'll bring that tea right over."

"Thanks."

The boy looked up when the paper plate full of shortbread hit the table in front of him; Nanu tugged a chair out across from him and sat down, lounging back.

"What's this?" He rubbed defiantly at his nose with the back of a fist. 

"Shortbread."

"Yeah, I know, but why?"

"So the nurse doesn't have me locked up for neglecting my children." Nanu shoved a handful of napkins across the table. 

"Don't even joke about that, old man." Another defiant sniffle, but at least the kid grabbed a napkin and started to wipe his red face. 

"It's joke or get depressed, kid. Or both, if you're really talented." He took one of the biscuits and examined the pattern molded into it. "I've had these fresh. In Shalour. They're not bad. You should eat."

"No."

"Okay.” He took a nibble. The biscuits kept well; the long journey from Kalos to Alola hadn't ruined that soft-sand texture, though there was some noticeable chewiness. "So. Your pokémon. What's up?"

"Nothing's _up_." The kid's hand tightened over the ball. "It's just not _here_ right now. It'll be back."

"...oh."

"It's not like that! I'm not stupid! It just got lost, okay?"

Nanu felt a jolt of uncomfortable sympathy. That kind of loss bit deep. He'd never felt it himself, but he'd seen what it did to stronger agents than him.

"I'm sorry, kid."

"Nobody asked you." The boy scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, forgetting the napkin still scrunched in his fist.

Nanu's failing attempt to be sympathetic was cut short by the attendant coming over with three paper cups full of steeped tea, and the appearance of the second hooligan a second later. He shifted back, a little relieved.

Kou had her arm wrapped, and her colour was well on its way back to a healthy golden-brown; her zubat, also looking healthier, was lying on her head and clinging with its wingtips to her headband.

"Some of that better be for me," she said, and then deflated a little when Nanu pushed over the plate of shortbread and a cup of tea without a fight. "Yeah, that's right," she blustered, making the best of it.

"Feed your pokémon," Nanu said bluntly, tossing the pack of beans over.

"Yeah, maybe I will."  She kicked out a chair and sat backwards in it, retrieving a pokébean and holding it up for her zubat to nibble.

He watched it nuzzle her fingers apologetically before it took a bite of the snack. They might not be the most competent pair he'd ever met, but if they kept fighting together that thing was going to be a crobat someday.

The girl waited until her pokémon was done eating and gave it a little ear-rub before grabbing her own snack, taking a huge bite of shortbread.  

"Hey Jase, he been bothering you?" she demanded, mouth full.

"Nah," said idiot one, who now also had a name.

Nanu sipped his tea, contemplating a retreat now that the two of them were in no danger of dying. They could squabble, eat some food, he'd buy some antidotes and leave them somewhere obvious so they could feel accomplished when they pocketed them....

"You gotta stop carrying that ball around, man," the girl said, after she'd washed down her shortbread with a swig of tea. "Idiots like that square in the apron keep running their mouths and you get upset."

" _No_. What's Haunter gonna think when it comes back and I don't have its ball?"

"Bro, it's been six months." Her voice softened. "It sucks, I feel you, but you're gonna have to accept--"

"Shut it!" the boy bounced out of his chair, shooting off for the door again, this time without Nanu's grip to stop him.

His friend made an abortive movement to go after him, then sagged back as the main door of the Pokémon Center banged open and fell shut.

"Crap," she whispered. Her zubat patted the side of her head comfortingly.

"...What happened to his haunter?" Nanu leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table.

"What do you care, cop?"

"It's important."

She held out a few seconds out of spite, and then sighed, crumbling like the shortbread in her hand.

"It's weird. It just... left. It kept wanting to head down to the Thrifty Megamart. Which is no big deal, that's where Jase caught it in the first place, right? But after the shipwreck and the big storm, things were weird. It was like... it kept acting like it heard something we couldn't. Jase got freaked out and started keeping it in its ball a lot. So one night a couple months ago, it popped out of its ball when he wasn't looking, and it took off?” 

A couple months ago. Nanu didn’t like anywhere that this was going. 

“--so we went to the Megamart, we figured it must have gone to see its pals. Took all day to get over there without going down into that creepy gunk on the beach, too. But there was nothing in the store. You know? Absolutely nothing, like at all. Jase stayed in there for hours checking every corner, yelling its name..."

Her eyes had gone shiny with moisture. She blinked and squared her jaw. "It was messed up, yo."

"Yeah. Sounds it."

"I gotta go after him."

"Make sure he eats," Nanu said, pushing the second cup of tea and the last shortbread at her-- then, after a second of thought, a handful of coins. Whatever 'Jase' had thrown at the vigilante seaking back in the gardens, he probably couldn't afford to lose it.

"Really?" she looked at him in disbelief, disarmed. Then she got herself together, stuffing the coins into her pocket and grabbing the tea and shortbread. "Yeah, I'm gonna take this. Skull takes what they want, you can't stop me."

"That's right," he said dryly. "Take care, kid."

"Up yours, cop!"

She bounded out of the cafe.

A second later, she leaned back in, shot a glance around and said much more quietly: "...thanks, yo."

"Get lost, lawbreaker," he said, waving her out.

Poor stupid kids. Running around and playing gangster because they felt like the world had done them wrong. They'd get past it; he'd be shocked if either of them really had what it took to go bad.

...And this thing with the ghosts was starting to worry him more and more. The ghost-types, the storm, the wreck; they had something to do with each other, but damned if he knew what.

He finished his tea in thoughtful silence, ate about half his shortbread before he gave it up. Kou had left the mostly-full bag of pokébeans behind; he jammed that in his pocket.

He was going to go shopping, and then he had to go back to the gardens.


	9. Keep the old

The all-night convenience store on the fringes of Malie might not have been as well stocked as a real grocery store, but canned food and heat-and-eat packaged noodles were still a step above eating out of the vending machine, and it meant a lot less crowd than the night market. More importantly, they sold tins and bags of pokémon food, which apparently was going to be a necessity as long as his furry little freeloaders were around.

He wasn't sure what he'd do when they all cut ties and vanished, like wild pokémon eventually would. Carry on, probably, one step after another, but it'd be a little less fun.

Pokémon were good for people. It wasn't just that they were helpful, that they enjoyed competition. They kept you honest, gave you someone to look out for and someone to look out for you. They'd be loyal to you as long as you were to them. Longer, usually.

He schlepped his bags back into the garden, choosing a bench near the bridge where he'd met the Skulls. The Malie garden was a beautiful place; peaceful now, with his mind a little sharper and without the idiot twins. The grass rustled gently, with the nocturnal types getting on with their lives, the occasional poliwag and poliwhirl croaking a night song, and the soft flutter of masquerain wings. The gentle night breeze blew little waves on the water.

"You still out there? Got something for you."

The water rippled, and the seaking was there again, watching him sidelong with one bulbous eye. Nanu pulled the bag of pokébeans out of his pocket, spilling a couple out onto the bench.

"Seaking!"

"Yeah, I'm coming."

He slid off the bench, crouching by the water to examined the pokémon in the lamplight; fat old thing, hard broad scales surrounding its mouth and horn. Those thick old plates carried a record of scars and dents, old battles and misadventures, a history that'd survived even the energetic transformation of evolution. That little discolored scar on the face, for example-- that was a souvenir from a last desperate stand against old lady Pilo's emolga. It was much easier to see the white bloom left by a critical iron tail on a seaking's bold orange scales than it had been on a pale goldeen.

"Heya, Goldy," he murmured, handing over the bean. 

The water-type lunged out greedily, gulping it down. Always had been the most food-motivated little beast. 

“You remember me?" 

It spat water at him. "SeaSea."

...As a goldeen it had called him LoLo, with that exact same inflection. His mouth softened.

"I didn't expect you to still be here."

That gulping sound was its version of a laugh. It surged halfway out of the water, plopped back on its side and rolled lazily. He wasn't imagining the smug air in its movements, either.

"Still breaking hearts and high-test line? I bet. When'd you evolve?"

"Sea; seaking."

He couldn't understand it like he could once, but he got the gist. It'd been a while.

"Scam any more kids out of food for battles?"

"King!"

"Glad to hear it. You've got a good racket going." He passed over another bean to be swallowed whole, and then reached out cautiously; Goldy let him stroke the thick scales between its eyes, gargling contentedly.

Then it did something odd; it ducked under the water, so only the top of its head was visible, and then bobbed up and made a questioning noise.

"What--" Oh. "No, I haven't seen Sandy yet."

"Seaking. SEAking."

"I know I should. There's a lot of things I ought to do. But just between you and me, I haven't gotten any better at following through than when I was a kid."

That earned him another jet of water in the face. He sputtered a little, chuckled roughly. "Sure, you weren't complaining when I called it quits, but I could've done better. You guys did great. I was the one who gave up."

It splashed at him dismissively. "King seaking, SeaSea."

"Whatever you say." He offered another bean, which it nibbled without urgency. It was more interested in another rub on the face, which he provided, polishing away some of the algae that clung stubbornly to its scales with his fingertips and stroking its rubbery lips.

"I should head down back down to the coast. Thanks for looking out for me." Even if the kids hadn't been much of a threat, that icebeam had disarmed the zubat a lot more effectively than he could have by himself.

It gargled another question.

"...yeah, I'm back to stay."

A pointed look, and a literally pointed horn pushed lightly into the meat of his hand.

"Yeah, I'll be back. Someone's got to keep the treats coming until the next easy mark comes along with an island challenge amulet."

"Seaking," it said smugly.

It'd changed while he was away too, but only on the outside. It was a fat little con-artist then and it was a fat and slightly larger con-artist now, and that made him feel at home the same way the smell of the flowers did. There was that constant edge of guilt, though. Sandy and Goldy were just two more old friends he should have done better by.

He patted the pokémon before he got stiffly to his feet; it sank contentedly back under the water, but watched him from the shallows as he gathered up his bags again and stretched his legs. Too much sitting and lying down wasn’t doing him any favours. 

"Nanu!"

He looked up-- silhouettes at the garden gates; one broad and Ramsay shaped, one even broader counting the puff of translucent gauze, gleaming where it caught the lamplight. 

Ramsay came jogging in, the costume queen Darling Playnice only a step behind him, impressively deft on those heels.

“Kel got a page,” Ramsay said as he slowed to a stop. “Ahina at the Center called in an altercation with a couple of kids and a guy who fit your description-- you okay?” 

Nanu snorted. “Oh, I was in mortal danger. It was the Skulls. Hit me up for my pocket change.” 

“I wasn’t worried about you,” Ramsay said, but the tension in his face eased a little. “You go easy on them?” 

“They survived.” 

“Adorable, aren’t they? Remember when we used to avoid whole stretches of road because we thought they might be there?” Darling said, voice surprisingly deep. She smiled gently when he looked over, not quite as unimposing in layers of pink tulle and chiffon as her expression hoped to be.

“I remember that time we tried to sneak through the meadow and got burned instead when we tripped over that nesting oricorio.”

Darling beamed. "I still have a scar! Oh, I can’t believe you’re back. Why didn't you stop in and say hello before you ran off to get in trouble?" The cosqueen picked him up in her burly arms, her rib-crushing hug lifting him a full foot in the air. The silicon of her breastplate provided enough of a buffer to breathe, but only just.

"Alola to you too!" he gasped, once he was put down. "Shouldn't you be lip-synching?"

"When my old buddy's in danger? Ramsay said you didn't even have any pokémon with you."

"I had Goldy. Apparently."

"That _is_ Goldy you were talking to, I knew it. That's wonderful. Just like old times. Except you've changed-- oh, you've grown into those cheekbones."

"You've grown into that everything," Nanu pointed out dryly.

"Oh, you know, it’s just the virtuous living. Look at you, our Po Town interpol cadet come home, I'm so happy to see you--"

Nanu had to move sharply to avoid another hug, ducking sideways. As a kid Darling-- Ohai, out of the wig and the cincher-- had always been the demonstrative type, tending towards sloppy hugs and big, clumsy, bruising claps on the back. Apparently all the muscle gained since then had stabilized her center of mass, because she was sure and graceful in her stilettos now, smoothly turning the attempted hug into a hair ruffle that made the product in his hair crunch audibly but didn't knock him over.

He'd considered the other boy a friend, once, when they were young and going to school together, but Ohai had had a lot of friends and Nanu had assumed that he was just one of the crowd. He wouldn't have put money on being remembered, and now it turned out that Ohai didn't just remember him, he'd come running to the rescue when he thought Nanu was in trouble.

That made two old friends who hadn't forgotten him. Two more threads to his past coiling around his ankles. He didn't know if he liked it. He didn't know that he disliked it, though.

Ramsay looked between the two of them, bemused. Strange to be on this side of the in-joke. 

“So… who’s Goldy?” 

“Nanu’s old goldeen. They met back when we were doing the island challenge. He left it behind, though; it wouldn’t have been much of a cop.” 

“A goldeen? I wouldn’t have guessed that.” 

Yes, yes, he had ‘dark-type trainer’ written all over him and he’d slipped right into that niche as an agent. He lifted a shoulder. “I had a sandile too.” 

“And what else?” 

Darling chuckled. “Nanu, you little shade-flower. You really didn’t tell him?” 

“Nobody wants to hear about my island challenge.”  


“Are you kidding? Of course I do, tell me everything.” 

“If I got through all the trials and up to the gauntlet of Mount Lanakila with a sandile and a goldeen and nothing else, I’d have it tattooed on my forehead,” Darling said. “You didn’t grow out of the shyness, though, I see.” 

Ramsay turned to look at him with a worrying expression. It looked uncomfortably close to admiration. “How on earth--” 

“Goldy was strong. Sandy was fast.” 

“Strong, he says. It used to break fishing poles. There are still fishermen in this town holding a grudge.” 

“How did you land it?” Ramsay asked, delighted to be getting the dirt on him. 

Fortunately, Nanu had no shame. “Oh, I didn’t stand a chance of catching it legitimately. I used bribery.” 

“Bribery.” Ramsay sounded confused. Darling just nodded. She knew what a little grifter he’d been. 

“I staked out the streams for a couple weeks. Picked the water type that gave everyone the most grief. Offered it a deal.” He shrugged. “It signed up for my challenge, and I spent every spare P on gourmet food.” 

“...Apparently it was worth it.” 

“Well, when it wasn’t eating all of my winnings, it was eating electrical attacks and spitting them out. Tough little lightning rod.” His mouth quirked. “Ruined a lot of other trainers’ days once upon a time.” 

“You should have seen him. He had this routine with rich tourists. Naive little kid who just wanted to do his best and didn’t realize that going up against an electric type was suicide… They thought he was adorable right until that first attack landed and didn’t do anything except boost Goldy’s attack.” 

Ramsay chortled. 

“Goldy was stronger than they thought, and I had access to TMs the other kids didn’t. I had a big allowance to blow. It wasn’t that impressive.” 

“We all had big allowances,” Darling pointed out. “Kahuna Koa still took me out.” 

“And Kahuna Pilo took me out, once she got serious about things.” 

Darling tutted and shared a look with Ramsay that Nanu couldn’t decipher. She bundled up her skirts and sat heavily on the bench, patting it. Nanu sat beside her, and Ramsay took the last sliver of seat, squashing Nanu between them. 

“I’m keeping you from the beauty revue,” he remembered.

“Eh, Gothita Lei’s going to take it again. One of the judges has a thing for her,” Darling said. 

Ramsay nodded, laying his arm around Nanu’s shoulder. “The talent portion’s my favorite part anyway, and that’s over.” 

Fine. If they were going to insist. Their loss. 

"It's so good to see one of the old gang, you don't know," Darling said happily. "Nearly everyone else moved away-- other islands, other regions, even. Once your folks moved out, it started the trickle; everyone sold and moved off."

"Gave up waiting for the rain to stop, huh?"

"Mm-hmm. Some investors snapped up most of the houses, but at least one of them is selling off, too. Good luck finding buyers. I think it's finally sinking in."

"I don’t understand why everyone got so shy of the rain suddenly," Ramsay said. “It’s always been rainy. It’s still beautiful. That’s why they built the old palace up there.” 

Nanu and Darling shared their own look at that.

There'd been some kind of uneasy half-secret about that, when he was a kid. Something about the rain, as if it were taboo, rude to talk about. It was almost like it embarrassed his parents.

“It’s not rainy," Darling said. "It’s _always raining._ ” 

“So it’s a little wet, it’s a good climate for sun-shy types. Like this one.” 

“No. It _always rains._ It never stops. Not for as long as I can remember.” 

There it was, out in the open, the uncomfortable topic that bothered his parents so much. The obvious fact that nobody ever said out loud, especially around strangers. 

"I did the research, when my family was selling. I couldn’t understand why they’d built a town there in the first place. And it’s like you said, it used to just be rainy. You got a few months of heavy rain and then little sprinkles.” 

"That’s what I thought it was like." Ramsey said. “Sure, whenever I’ve been up there it’s been during a shower, but I’m not up there that often.” 

"Nobody talked about it," Nanu said. “Never knew why, but I knew I wasn’t supposed to bring it up.” 

"I know why," Darling said.She gave Nanu a conspiratorial look. "I don't know, should I tell an out of towner like this suspicious police character, though?"

"We're all out of towners now." Which was a little more dignified than demanding to know. His curiosity was up.

"So." She glanced around, as if there were might be eavesdroppers lurking behind the path markers. "There was a time before either of us were born when Po Town didn't have walls and a gate. It used to be a village, a little like Iki town. But as more people moved in from other regions, it started getting built up, and built up, and then some genius who'd travelled around historical Kalos suggested that there should be a border around it, like a castle. Keep the haves safely on the inside and the riff-raff on the outside."

"You mean the kids before us didn't have to climb over the dumpsters to get in after curfew?" Nanu scoffed. "And my parents acted like we had it so easy."

"Mm-hmm." Darling bobbed her eyebrows. "But there's more. The weather was still nice back then. They had to rush construction a little to finish up before the rainy season, but they had plenty of sunshine and plenty of money, so it all went smoothly. But I've seen the construction foreman's notes, and he was so relieved because the day, the very day after they finished the walls and hung the gate, the rain started. Early. And then it never let up. Not for a minute; not after a week, not after a month…” 

“And then it never let up. Ever.” It’d taken him a while to understand that other kids hadn’t been born and raised under a constant blanket of rain, hadn’t had rituals of clothes drying and a special mat just for wet shoes, could leave their windows and doors open if they had solid doors and windows at all. 

Ramsay didn't have to ask what this all meant. He thumped his chest softly with a horned hand. Nanu realized his own hand had fallen into that forefinger-and-pinky-extended gesture on instinct, to placate the guardian spirit.

"No wonder mom and dad never talked about it." Who wanted to own up to offending a local deity? Not his perfectly proper parents, or any of the other high-rollers. They'd always been a little uneasy about the relationship that the guardians had with the islanders. Even his mom, who should have known better, but maybe she’d bought into the idea that money could exempt you from the old truths. 

"It might have been all right if they hadn't put the Pokémon Center on the wrong side of the wall. Maybe," Darling concluded.

"I wonder if it was a warning," Nanu mused.

"I think so. Tapu Bulu is a gentle spirit. The rain wasn't so bad; all that fresh water was a gift. Hell on property values, but a gift."

"I liked it. Helped me sleep at night. And I could play outside without getting burned." He’d never thought of the rain as a bad thing. He’d been too young to know or care about property values. 

"I didn't know any of this," Ramsay murmured. "That wasn't long before the Route 14 earthquake, was it?"

"Only a few years. Like I said, a warning. They should have listened," Darling agreed. "But everyone just pretended it wasn’t happening."

"People from other regions don't understand," Nanu sighed. "Their guardian spirits pop out every thousand-odd years to fulfill a prophecy or something. They don't get involved in local politics, pick up ship-wreck survivors or scuttle ships they don’t like. Other regions’ gods don't challenge random trainers to battle." Not that their guardian would, but over on Melemele he'd met more than one veteran trainer who'd been ambushed by the lightning guardian because it had been a slow decade and said lightning guardian was bored.

"Really?" Darling and Ramsay said it together. It sounded naive to him now, but he'd been surprised too. It'd been a culture shock like nothing else, finding out that in most parts of the world people didn't share living space with their old legends. It'd seemed... lonely.

He was home now, though.

He was still feeling oddly clear headed after his round of hysteria earlier, and he understood suddenly that he'd been thinking like a foreigner himself. He was home now. It was a real possibility, not just paranoia, that he'd really met the bull-god outside his extended stay motel room a few nights ago. 

He needed to talk to the meowth, find out if one of them had left that strange stone or not.

...And if he really had met the island guardian, he realized with a sinking feeling, he'd closed the door in its face and gone back to bed.

What a champion failure he was.

"Real idiots in other regions, yeah," he muttered, meaning himself.

"Good thing you're back here," Darling said. There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in it; he was obviously confirming her own preconceived notions of people who chose to live anywhere but Alola. "Is this a vacation, or--"

Ramsey cleared his throat. "Don't think he wants to talk about it."

A delicate pause. "Got it."  Then, softer: "He never did, when things didn't go to plan."

Ah. Yes. Right. The reason he tried to avoid people knowing him.

Of course, you could go too far. He’d tried so hard to be a blank slate he’d even forgotten himself. 

He hadn’t felt this stupid in a long time. He couldn’t have retired a moment too soon. He’d really started thinking like a foreigner, like some poor mainlander whose god had fucked off long ago to be a-- tree or an egg or whatever 100KR had told him that one time. Not like an island boy who’d grown up under the ever-present shelter of his god, under the never-ending warning of his god, if Darling knew what she was talking about, and he had no doubt she did.

‘Take point in Alola, Agent 000.’ ‘Use your local knowledge,’ his ass. It was a mercy he hadn’t fucked up like this seven months ago. Maybe he had.

Linking the beach to the UBs hadn’t been a leap-- the timing was suspect. But what if wormhole radiation wasn’t the only thing at play? 

Of the four guardian spirits, Tapu Bulu was the least likely to ambush you walking through the forest, the most likely to quietly heal the wounded. It was gentle, lazy, merciful. But you could push that mercy too far. People had. In living memory. It gave warnings, because it was kind. But once you got it good and pissed off, the Ula’ula guardian had no rivals in the destruction it could rain down. 

His grandmother had been alive to see what had happened to the last Kahuna of Ula’ula and his little private army, more than sixty years ago now. And he didn’t remember the Route 14 earthquake himself-- way up in the mountains all it had done was rock his cradle, but he’d had some school friends who could faintly remember the night that everything rattled down, and their parents woke them up and fled up into the foothills of Lanakila as the water crawled hungrily up and up and up and sucked away the wreckage of what had been a village, a campground, a highway, a shopping center. 

Was there a warning on that black sand beach that he didn’t understand yet? All that poisonous undying-unalive vegetation rotting in place and never returning to the earth? What kind of warning was that? A protective one, warning people away from danger, or a scolding? 

What would Bulu be angry about? People sailing in the ruins? Not likely, it had never cared about people visiting before, even irreverent tourists. ...Mad that the kids on the boat had died? 

He didn’t know enough to begin to guess. 

“Sweety?” Despite the endearment, that was Ohai’s rumbling baritone-- his voice had dropped like a stone when they were both 18, cracking all the way down-- and not the falsetto he used as Darling Playnice. “You’re not listening, are you?” 

“I’m listening.” He unspooled the words that had been flowing through his ears and around his brain. “Draco Meatier was voted most eligible costume bachelor. Mantina stole your red satin shoes and she may give good face but she’s all heel.” 

“Nice try, but I remember you pulling that trick when you fell asleep in history class.”  

Ramsay huffed in amusement. 

“I’m--” he bit off the apology because they were getting meaningless at this point. “I’ve got things on my mind.” He leaned into Ramsay’s side. Ramsay gave his shoulder a squeeze, rubbing a gentle circle against his skin. Darling patted his leg. 

“I should head back soon,” he said, before he got too comfortable up against leather and solid muscle and body heat. Some other night, maybe. If he ever found enough of himself to do something about it. “Make sure the meowth haven’t destroyed things.” 

Ramsay hummed his agreement. “I’m going to stay in town for a while, but let me call you a Charizard when you go.” 

“You’re a cop. You know you’re not supposed to call rides for other people.” 

“I’m a cop. I know everyone does it anyway.” 

“Keep being nice to me, I’m never going to learn.” 

“Learn that you’re home and we help each other here?” Darling said, elbowing him affectionately. 

He grunted, and trapped against Ramsay, couldn’t dodge the hug that she wrapped them both in.

“It was good to see you again,” the costume queen murmured. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” It was true. It surprised him a little. He’d thought managed to file all his homesickness away a long ago. 

For the moment, he could say he was glad to be home. 

“Oh,” said Darling. Then: “So much for this wig.”

It was another moment before the first warm, fat raindrops hit Nanu-- there was a lot of Ramsay and Darling to hit before they got to him. 

“We should probably go anyway,” Ramsay said, squinting up at the dark sky. “Let’s go to the Pokémon Center. I’ll reassure Ahina that you’re not out playing at Ula’ula’s own Blaziken Mask and check in with Kel.”

He snorted, and Darling sprang to her feet, grabbing for one of his hands and one of Ramsay’s. The deep laugh that spilled out of her was all Ohai. “Get your bags! Let’s go!”

  
  
  


The Pokémon Center was just like he’d left it, when they came pounding through the doors, dripping wet-- quiet, warm, formerly peaceful. 

“Blissey!” sang out the Blissy cheerfully, friendly face dropping into a stern frown when Nanu squeezed out from between Ramsay and Darling. 

“There are towels just to the right of the door!” the nurse called, coming through the swinging doors to the back of the Center with a tray of steaming mugs carefully balanced in her arms. “Please, grab some and dry-- oh. Sir. You’re back.”

“I see you’re making lots of friends,” Darling said innocently, picking up a small hand towel and patting at the rainwater around her hairline. 

“As many as I ever did.” 

“Ahina,” Ramsay said, tapping into that big friendly community officer voice Nanu had never had the knack for. He could do the whole scale of cop voices at least halfway, everyone could after six months of intensive training, but he knew a natural when he heard one. “Howzit? My friend didn’t startle you, did he?” 

The young nurse’s hackles settled, and she found her smile again. “Only a little!” 

The Blissey gave him a sideways look, still obviously unsure, but he was halfway to being able to come back and not get thrown out immediately 

“You’re going to have to come see me again.” Darling said, carefully squeezing the rainwater from her wig. Her makeup had stayed remarkably well in place, but he could see Ohai under all the contouring and shaping and time far better now that he’d been able to from across the bar floor, or out in the dark. His warm brown eyes crinkled up. “Or I’m going to come see you, and I bet you still don’t like surprises.” 

His smile was gentle, and Nanu couldn’t help the half-smile it pulled from him. For a minute he felt as young as those idiot children had been, instead of twice that.

“That’s what I thought.” Darling passed him a towel. “Here. I’ll get us some tea and get you a ride home.”

  
  


* * *

It was still raining when the charizard picked him up, Darling and Ramsay waving goodbye from inside the warm glow of the Pokémon Center, and it didn’t break until somewhere over the Haina Desert where the clouds gave way to clear dark skies and a spill of stars that made his breath catch. 

The charizard dropped him off outside the motel, close enough to see the lights of the front lobby, but hopefully far enough from the building itself that that he hadn’t woken up any of the other guests. “Thanks,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the mostly dry wax bag from earlier. He fished out a slightly squashed pokébean and offered it. 

“Cha.” The charizard plucked the little bean from his hand with two careful claws, and leapt into the sky, leaving him to squish his way across the pavement to his room in damp boots. He really needed to get shoes that weren’t made for a Unovian winter.

“I’m home.”  

Four little faces looked up when he came in, eyed him with disinterest, and turned away again. 

“I need to talk to you.” 

“Mrr?” asked one-- a new one, to boot. Make that two newcomers: tonight Chip was absent, Notch and Fling and two strangers holding down the fort.

“No, not--” He sighed, and pointed. “I know they’re not your names, but deal with it. For my reference. You-- you’re A1, Fling. You, A3, Notch. You two, new kids, you’re A4 and A5. You two don’t get names until you do something dumb enough to earn them. Don’t take it as a challenge.”

Fling made a chittering noise; derisive laughter. 

“Don’t get too comfy, A1, you’re the one I need to talk to.” 

“Yah?” 

It uncurled from around the wreckage of the gift basket, pattering over and leaping to his shoulder. 

“...Okay, okay, let me put the groceries down first. That reminds me. You all good with generic? Because generic is what I got.” 

A4 whined, making a face of disgust, but Notch was on its feet the second he pulled the tin of pokémon food out of the bag. 

“Wet food tonight, but I’ve only got so many cans, so it’s mostly going to be dry.” 

“Mwaaaaaaaahhhhh.” A4 rolled over and went limp, the picture of a pokémon on the verge of starvation. 

“if you don’t like it you can go someplace else.” 

He left his boots at the door and peeled off his wet socks. And they’d been the only pair he’d been able to find, too. He shed his shirt in the bathroom, Fling obligingly weaving from one shoulder to the next when he tugged it off, and tossed it over the shower-curtain rod to have a half-chance of drying, then left his trousers beside it before going back to the kitchen to hunt around for a dish to put the food in. He finally found it under the sink-- and then considered the logistics of keeping four meowth from fighting over one bowl. 

He sighed again, went to the dishes cupboard and pulled out four of the coffee saucers the motel had kindly provided for people who had enough energy to cook and eat real food. 

Fling leapt from his shoulder to the counter- “Get off of there--” and watched as he portioned out the tin of food for them. 

He gave Fling its plate on the counter: it hadn’t jumped down when he told it to, and chasing it off the counter would have been work. Besides, it had seniority. It had been here since day one. He distributed the other three saucers on the floor and waved a finger at Fling. 

“Come see me when you’re done.” 

“Yaww,” Fling acknowledged. 

He left them eating and went to get the stone that had been such a mystery. 

It was a little caked in loose rock and dirt; he rinsed it under the bathroom sink, sloughing dirt off, and then gave it a couple hard bangs against the countertop to dislodge some of the rock. The more he washed away, the more it shimmered, refracting the light strangely, too much. 

There was a combination vanity and desk with lights around the mirror he’d never bothered to turn on; he pulled a chair over now, flicked on the lights, and studied the stone. 

It was flatter than he’d first thought, now that he’d cleaned it off some, more a disc than a ball. There were shards of some different colored minerals starting to show. What did you call them. He’d picked this up once, hadn’t he? Inclusions, or occlusions? A shape in the rock itself. 

He tipped the stone up toward the vanity lights and sucked in a breath. 

“Miah,” Fling said softly, patting his leg. 

“Yeah, come up.” 

It climbed up his leg with a minimum of claw and perched in his lap, looking at the design he’d uncovered. It either didn’t recognize it, or it wasn’t surprised, and he didn’t know which. 

Might as well ask, instead of just guessing 

“You ever seen one of these before?” 

“Yaw.” 

“Really? Wonder where.” He eyed the stone, tipping it slowly so it caught and glimmered strangely in the light. “My granny had one, from when she beat the island challenge. My aunt over on Akala has it now.” 

“Ah?” Polite, but the pokémon wanted to know what the point was. 

“Found it the day you showed up in my room.” 

“Yaw.” It knew. 

“Did you bring me this?” 

It looked up at him in surprise, heavy eyes widening. Apparently he was stupider than it had thought. It met his eyes and shook its head very slowly, a concession to human communication on the level of speaking slowly and using single syllables. 

It definitely hadn’t left the stone in his shirt. It was shocked that he thought it had. 

“You know who did?” 

“Yaw.” 

He didn’t actually need the confirmation, but he held up his closed hand, pinky and forefinger held up like horns. 

“Yaaw,” Fling said kindly, as if it was talking to a very slow child. 

The island guardian had come to him and he’d told it to screw off and gone back to bed. 

That sounded like him, yep. 

“What did it give me a Z-ring for? ...Or-- the materials for one, at least.” 

“Ma-ow?” 

“Good to know you don’t know everything.”  He stroked Fling’s ears idly with his free hand,  the other turning the stone over and over. “This is going to be a problem.” 

“Meh.” It turned in his lap and patted his face reassuringly. 

“Easy for you to say.” 

He set the stone down, and hoisted Fling to his shoulder. Oh, he was tired. “This has been about all the day I can handle. You?” 

“Myawwww.” it said, as if it had done anything strenuous today, which he very much doubted.

“Lazy,” he said, without any venom. Fling swatted him lightly on the nose. 

It was-- 

It was still good to be home. For today it was good to be home. 


	10. Intertidal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple thousand words of being in between (high and low tide, sleep and waking, one errand and another, thoughts and static)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR NOTE: This will be the last chapter on our weekly schedule for a while. Binz has a new job! It's very exciting and also gives her no time. We'll be taking a bit of a break, and when we come back I [shiplizard] will be doing the bulk of the writing, so... I hope you like your story spare and pared down.

He was caught in a riptide, and it must have stretched for miles, because no matter how far he swam-- like he’d been taught as a kid, to the side, to get out, not against it-- it still drug around his ankles and yanked him back. Cold, thick, stinking water. Like he was in a sewer instead of the open sea.

It should be warm.

It had been warm, hadn’t it? How long had he been out here? He couldn’t see land.

He slowed, trying to see around him-- the riptide sucked him down, cold water clutching at knees. He sucked in a breath in case it pulled him farther still and cut sideways for warm water, for escape.

The ocean was empty, which didn’t make any sense. How far out was he? There were no swimmers, no boats, no water types, not even a wingull overhead. Just dark, unhappy water, sluggish waves and the icy, stinking vein underneath. Where the hell was he? Where the hell was 100KR?

He was starting to get tired.

Thinking it opened the door, because suddenly his joints were aching and his legs were wrapped in lead. He couldn’t kick without lines of fire racing up to his hips. He leaned sideways, away from the riptide, flopping with his body like a stranded magikarp instead of someone who’d grown up in the ocean, and his lungs started to burn.

This wasn’t good. Why didn’t he know where he was-- had he taken a Hypnosis? A Spore? Hell, a hit on the head? He couldn’t stop swimming long enough to get a sense of it.

Keep swimming, Triples. You’re an island boy. This is how people drown.

There. There, something dark in the water ahead. Almost as dark as the water, as the sky-- hadn’t it just been day? How long had he been struggling out here.

But Tapus save him, it was a rock and he didn’t care if it was crawling with mareanie, it was his now.

He almost touched it before he realized it wasn’t a rock at all. It looked like stone. It was the right colour. Dead and black-grey, lifeless. But it was seaweed, kilos and kilos of dark, stinking seaweed.

He faltered, for just a second, forget to keep kicking, to wriggle away from the riptide clawing at his legs, and it pulled him under.

He thrashed and flailed at the water, kicking hard, shot forward towards the seaweed and didn’t fucking care because that had to be better than drowning. But the riptide was so strong, its grip had reached his belly, settling like stone, like a Psychic holding him still-- he reached out desperately for a handhold, for the seaweed, and it reached back.

No.

The tendrils unfolded, first the ones he could see, then more and more of them hidden beneath the first layer, a hundred thousand binacle without a home, except no-- no-- it was those _mouths_ , the Beast-

 

 

A primal sound inserted itself between him and his sleepy horror, one he’d been programmed to respond to immediately-- the rattle and slide of a pager vibrating itself off the desk, capped by the thunk of department-issued technology hitting hardwood.

He pulled out of his dream, irritation replacing sick resignation, and patted at the nightstand uselessly for a second. Something warm and not-quite-Purr-shaped stirred against his side, yawning a protest at his movement, and he remembered that he didn’t have a pager anymore, and Interpol wouldn’t be trying to contact him anyway.

The motel room slowly came into focus around him; there was a meowth wedged next to him, one draped across his feet. One crouched on his stomach, most of its weight on its back feet, and despite not being very heavy it was doing an excellent impression of a boulder. Too dim to identify the others but he could recognize Fling instantly.

Fling was staring at the vanity, which now contained zero mysterious stones and one meowth peering over the edge of the desk with wide eyes as if it couldn’t understand how the stone had, spontaneously and without any curious paws helping it along, fallen to the floor.

“Dammit, A4--” he started, at least 80% sure he’d identified it correctly.

Fling looked over its shoulder and chirped a sharp little negative at him.

“Come on. It didn’t knock itself off.”

Fling blinked at him, giving him time to consider all his human failings.

“...it knocked itself off?”

“Yaw.”

He let his head drop back into the pillow. “Okay.”

“Meh,” Fling agreed, unconcerned now; it turned a circle and curled up on his stomach.

“No you don’t.”  He reached down and pushed it to the side, onto the bed where most of its weight wouldn’t be directly over the bladder.

It growled a little protest, but crawled up and re-settled itself comfortably in the crook of his arm.  

“Wow?” said A4-- confirming its identity with that dramatic whine he could recognize perfectly-- from the vanity. “Waaaaooow?”

It wanted food, he didn’t have to be psychic to recognize the pleading tone. The plaintive wail set off the one on his feet, and the one beside him, and Fling growled at them all, trying to bury its head in Nanu’s armpit to escape the noise.

“I don’t think they’re going to let us sleep.”

Fling groaned, and clamped its front paws over its ears.

“Yeah. Me too.”

For a moment he thought he was going to fall back asleep anyway, long slow seconds where dust floated in the slants of daylight coming in between the curtains were lost to his eyelids blinking shut, a quiet lull where he could feel it closing over him--

“Yowowowow!”

He lurched upright, fumbling sideways even as he tried to sit up, staggering to his feet and gripping at the bed to keep from sliding right down to the floor. “Fine!” _A4, codename Diva_.  

By the time he’d fed the noisemakers and (prompted by Fling dropping the bottle on his foot) had a drink of water, he’d lost his connection to unconsciousness. The heavy sleepy feeling had drained away. Unfortunately, he was awake.

He stood, torn between half-remembered errands. The feeling that he had something incredibly important to do and had forgotten it wasn’t a byproduct of sleeping badly-- no, that was just a constant companion. He sank down onto the bed. If he lay there for a while he might find sleep again. Considering the time he’d gone to bed last night, he really should get a few more hours, disaster of a sleep schedule notwithstanding...

...Call Jane about the ghosts, his brain coughed up. And talk to… someone about the stone.

Jane first, since talking to someone about the stone meant figuring out who that someone was which meant asking a lot of questions. Or talking to one of the kahunas. That would be the easiest way, but the last time they’d seen him he’d been an Interpol agent, and at least one of them almost definitely knew that three people had gone into the Poni Wilds and two had come back.

He was going to steer clear of the kahunas.

 

The air was still morning-cool when he staggered out toward the motel lobby, a shower and change of clothes later, hugging the shade under the porch roof all the way. He hadn’t been planning to see this side of noon any time soon.

“Good morning!” chirped Alani as he came through the door. “You got here in time for breakfast!” Was there a time of day that she wasn’t a ray of headache-inducing sunshine? But he’d put up with it, because he smelled coffee. “Go on and help yourself!”

There was a small breakfast set up behind her, a cloth-covered table with pitchers of berry juice and water at one end, bowls of berries and plates of malasada and sweet bread at the other. And yes, there. Against the wall, another little table with a coffee urn and mugs.

 _ _The Tapu is merciful__. He got himself some, mug to mouth in three seconds, and drained half of it before registering the temperature-- hot, hot, very fresh, ow-- and how good it was. Also very fresh. He tried to slow down, but finished the cup before he’d realised it. If he’d known the motel offered this, he might have-- no. No. He wouldn’t have gotten up for it.

He poured himself a second cup, eyed the two tourists working through the berry bowl, grabbed a malasada, then another, and slunk back outside before anyone could get chatty.

The sun was burning off what was left of the night chill, the sky clear and bright blue. The hard ground was already beginning to heat up, and he walked quickly, squinting, until he found a patch of short grass and a break in the red cliff with some roughed in stairs down to the shore. The tide was on its way in; the way over to the beach under the campground would soon be under a foot of water, but there were a few surfboards jammed into the sand down there, so somebody was still using this little landing.

It was really the wrong shore to be surfing on, this time of year, but the waves were still decent, no doubt kicked up by the rain over the mountains last night, and the water was dotted with surfers, flashes of colour and movement on the sparkling blue waves.

He stood at the top of the stairs and watched them for a little while, working through the malasadas and coffee until the mug was empty again.

He’d told himself he wasn’t going to worry about the stone right now, but it kept sneaking back into the corners of his mind. Why a Z-ring? Because that’s what it would be, for somebody, once a jeweler had gotten it out of the rough dull rock around it and polished and shaped it. They were powerful little things, paired with the right crystal and a pokémon who trusted you. He’d seen what granny’s bruxish could do.

They were sacred. You either found your own or you fought for the right to wear one by going through the gauntlet. Was this one supposed to go to someone? Be protected from someone?

...More coffee.  

“Howzit!”

A surfer was at the bottom of the stairs, one hand shielding his eyes, the other waving. Toby. Nanu raised his empty mug in a half-salute, and realised he was reaching for his pokéballs with his other hand only when he didn’t find them.

It took his conscious mind a half-second to catch up with what the rest of him had noticed. More coffee; he was in a pinch. But there it was-- Toby’s surfboard, hanging in the air beside him. It followed him as he started up the stairs, hanging beside the handrail, carefully skimming above the juts of rock.

Nanu took a few measured steps back, giving Toby and the surfboard plenty of room to clear the top of the stairs. It wasn’t that he’d never met a human with telekinetic abilities, but they were certainly rare and worrying.

Things made more sense when Toby, his surfboard, and then a moment later a raichu, no longer blocked by the angle of the stairs and Toby’s body, crested over the cliff.

“Morning!” said Toby.

The psychic-type was riding the air at knee-height, tail tucked under its feet, a few paces behind Toby. It was tracking the surfboard with its eyes, waving it along in the air, using its psychic energy keep the board aloft. Kind of it to help its unfortunate human friend who lacked both psychic powers and a built-in surfboard himself.

Nanu tipped his chin, nodding to the raichu and giving it its own small coffee mug salute. “Friend of yours?”

“Yah. Since pichu days.”

“You don’t train water?” Which was stereotypical but would also be practical. If you were going to spend six to eight hours a day in or around the water you wanted pokémon that thrived in that environment.

Besides, it wasn’t as if his preferred typing had ever surprised anyone.

Toby gave him a gently chiding look. Must be used to the question. “Don’t have to be a water type to love the waves. All my friends can surf, that’s all we need.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’re up early. You feeling okay?”

Good question. Actually, taking stock, he was… alright. He’d surfaced before the worst part of his nightmare. He was tired and his eyes hurt, but he’d had coffee. Could be a lot worse.

“I’ve had coffee.”

“Ass good?”

“As good as I get.”

Toby accepted this with a nod. “Good to see you. You oughta drop by the camp, get a plate for breakfast.”

“Had the hotel breakfast.”

“Get a plate for lunch, though.”

“Maybe.”   

“Rai, rai,” Toby’s partner urged him impatiently, golden ears twitching, surfboard scooting forward in the air as if to lead him by example.

“Yeah, we’re starving, we gotta go. Maybe see you, though.” And Toby still sounded pleased by the possibility despite all logic. “Alola.”

“Alola.” Nanu sketched a half-circle with one hand.

“Churaiii.” Two paws, full circle.

...He wondered how B1-Bean was doing. He’d have to check next time he did laundry. Or bring some of the squashed but still edible beans out, see if it liked the fresh variety as much as the dried kind.

If he got a plate lunch, even if he wasn’t hungry, he could at least pass around some of it to the meowth, keep A4-Diva from wasting away from pure starvation, or at least from wailing about the possibility. He’d have to do something for the campers, soon, to make up for the hypothetical free food and the dinner they’d already given him. He wasn’t sure what, yet.

It wasn’t that it was a debt, exactly. They wouldn’t begrudge him the food, the company, the care. But the world moved on give and take. Well, the islands did, at any rate. They glided along on the understanding that you did what you could to help others, because the land was so small compared to the ocean, and it was your duty.

It wouldn’t do to disturb the balance. He felt like he already did, like he was pushing everyone’s generosity too far just by being underfoot and it was going to hit the limit and swing back crushingly hard. And the balance was already disturbed. The ghosts were missing. Kids had died. The wormholes had rained down their destruction. The Tapu was… possibly angry.

He really needed some more coffee.

A plate lunch sounded good the more he thought about it. He hadn’t had a proper one in years. The day crew at the camp would be different, though, more strangers. He could almost cope with the small night crew. Hibiscus might or might not be there; she probably worked. Plum might be in school in town. There might be a different cop taking their lunch break. Toby would be there, but Laura was probably out on the trails, and who knew what that blond one did. The suggestible distracted one.

The name popped into his head along with the clear image of a Z-ring on a bony wrist. Molayne. Molayne might have some insight into the stone.

But he should call Jane first.

He stood, trapped in indecision, as the waves rolled in and slid back out, looking at nothing, until finally the heat of the sun on his skin and the craving for more coffee pushed the balance toward the motel lobby and the phone.

Alani was clearing off the breakfast table when he got back to the lobby, but there was still a mug and a half of coffee left in the urn that he claimed, and a few malasada that she handed to him wrapped in napkins. He stuck the malasada in his pockets and slunk around, nursing the last bit of his coffee until Alani bundled up the tablecloths from the breakfast set-up and disappeared through a back door, then helped himself to the lobby phone.

He dialed the number off Jane’s letter, trying to compose a coherent but innocent message to leave.

“Aether foundation public outreach department! It’s wonderful to hear from you today, what can we do for you?”

A man’s voice, young and genuine in its eagerness. Accent from one of the regions east of Kalos, he couldn’t pick out which, one of the ones that pronounced the letter w more or less correctly.

“Alola,” Nanu said, letting the drawl crawl deep into his voice, becoming any Ula’ula boy from anywhere on the island. “Get one problem, ‘bout pokemon? You guys da guys kin help, ya?”

“Of course, sir! Is this an emergency? I can transfer you to our pokémon rescue team.”

“Nah nah nah, no biggie. Back ‘den we wen ‘ad choke ghosts around hea. Now, ‘dem pau. No mo nothin.” Strange. He’d never used his native accent for deception before. He was only barely intensifying the way he’d grown up speaking. It just felt strange doing it for a stranger, made him conscious of it. Talking to Toby, the smattering of pidgin and the island cadence had come so naturally to him he hadn’t even registered himself doing it; now he was conscious of his syntax shifting.

“Are you from Ula’ula, sir?” the young man on the other end asked, as if he’d just remembered something.

“Ass right.”

“Oh! Stay on the line. Miss Wicke is coordinating all the reports about those poor missing ghosts.”

Lucky break. Or not so lucky, Jane was just sensible enough to use her position to information-gather on the sly. She’d’ve thrived in Interpol, although she’d punch him if he ever told her so.

He heard a woman’s voice in the background, a bit of chatter undecipherable through something muffling the phone, maybe a hand over the receiver.

There was a click of another line picking up, then Jane’s voice, impeccably friendly and professional. “Hello! The Aether foundation is very concerned with the welfare of all pokémon, including our ghost type friends. I’d love to hear any information you have.”

“‘Dem ghosts no mo’ hea,” Nanu drawled.

“Yes, I’ve heard that. Is one of your pokémon missing?”

The second line clicked off.

“No, but one of the local hooligans lost a haunter, and one of his friends was able to describe its behavior for me,” Nanu said, switching back effortlessly into his anonymously un-regional standard accent. It had been a handy skill at Interpol. It was still a handy skill. Especially for pissing off friends and former co-workers.

“I-- see, sir.” He heard the irritation in Jane’s voice. He’d surprised her, and that brought a little spiteful pleasure. “You should have told me you’d called in before. Of course I’d love to hear your new information. Just bear with me while I move to a quieter location.”

“Shua ‘ting,” he drawled, smirking to himself.

The line clicked again, to instrumental hold music, and then a few seconds later it was Jane’s significantly less friendly and professional voice.

“You pain in my ass.”

“Hello, Jane.”

“You know there used to be a betting pool about where you were actually from, at Interpol. They let consultants in on it; it wasn’t as if anyone knew the answer.”

“I know,” he said, with just a shadow of smugness. He might not be much now but he’d been a mystery once, a blank slate. A good agent, maybe, at his best.

“Esperanza was furious. She spent her first night on Alola yelling over the phone.”

“I know. She took it out on my wallet. Look, this is a secure line, right?”

“No, I’m an idiot,” Jane deadpanned. “Of course it is. And I’ve moved into the President’s office. Nobody will bother me in here. Being a glorified PA does have its uses.”

“Right. I do have some information, actually. But I wanted to know if you had anything first.”

“I do, in fact.” Her voice quieted. “I’m not in deep enough to have the details, but I’m getting close enough to Madame Interim President to know that there’s a second level of research happening at Aether. There are labs on the basement that aren’t on any of the tourist brochures; they take a key-card to access. I managed to ‘get lost’ long enough to have a look before very kind guards escorted me out. Some of the work is way outside my field of study, but some of the apparatus down there are multi-phase energy detectors. They’re researching the wormholes, all right, and they’ve got better equipment than we ever had.”

“Do you know why?”

“Sadly, they didn’t leave any conveniently open computer terminals,” she said irritably. “I’ve been watching invoices and trying to get a sense for how much of Aether is really the shadow labs and how much is the conservation efforts, but there’s so much I’m not going to be able to get to unless they let me in.”

“Don’t push it, all right? There are agents for this level of espionage.”

“You spy types wouldn’t have the first idea what this stuff is. The science department would, but none of them are agents any more than I am.”

Less than she was. The Interpol science types were all head-down oblivious types who didn’t think about the world outside the lab, and that was being kind. But just thinking about Jane being another casualty of Interpol’s mathematical life-and-death calculations--

“Just. Be careful, would you?”

“Careful, Triples. I’ll start to think that you care.”

There was a beat of silence, then she was all crisp and business again, switching as fast as he could between modes. “Now, what I can tell you for sure is--”

She broke off, and her voice changed again, softening and brightening with whiplash speed. “--Mama’s not here, sweetheart. Is something wrong?”

“I thought you said nobody would come in,” he hissed.

“Nobody who isn’t five and the president’s son,” she sing-songed back under her breath.

“This is what you meant about skinned knees? You’re a babysitter?”

“Looking after the president’s children is one of my duties,” she said primly. “Hello, sweetheart. Of course you can, up you go." That wasn't for him, obviously; Nanu heard the rustle of cloth. A small, high voice asked, very articulately, if it was bothering ‘Madame Wicke’.

“No, I’m just talking to a rude man on the phone. He can wait.”  

“I can’t believe they’ve got you babysitting. Do they know how much you can drink? Have they ever heard how many languages you can swear in?”

“I’d much rather talk to you about your studies, Gladion, thank you,” Jane said with her chin tipped away from the receiver. Then, to Nanu: “There’s an open house in two days at the Aether house, it’s close to you. We can talk about your concerns there.”

“Understood. Alola, ‘Madame Wicke’.”

“And you have a lovely day too, sir,” she said, in a tooth-achingly sweet tone that meant ‘up yours.’

He set down the phone with mixed relief and resignation-- nice to have a reprieve from telephone conversation, but two days to worry about Jane and stew. At least it was something checked off the list… for now.

He told himself to go to the camp, and plodded out still barefoot into the morning.

He wandered the wrong way at first, his feet taking him away from the direction of Tapu Village and the camp and back to the gap in the cliff, the surfer steps leading down to the beach. The stairs were weathered, a little wobbly-- probably not old, the wind and the wet wouldn’t let a roughed-in set like this get more than a year in before they rotted out-- but they held out long enough for him to pick his way down to the shore.

The ocean stretched out before him, big and blue and beautiful, and it was hard to look away long enough to get through the rough seagrass and small, hardly flowers sprouting up in the sand and driftwood. There weren’t many surfers out now, the waves settling the longer the morning lasted, but there were still a few t-shirts and towels left half-way up the cliff or draped over taller rocks, and a few boards stuck into the sand, the water slowly creeping up their lengths.

He turned eastward and waded into the water, ankle-deep and just the right shade of cool not to freeze his feet but be a break from the heat of the day.

The hems of his pants hit the water-- then the cuffs, then with one big swell rolling its way in, they were soaked up to the mid-calf. A little flicker of memory surfaced from the dusty corners of his mind, pulled up by the smell of brine and flowers-- just the briefest anxiety that his parents would be disappointed that he’d come home wet and dirty again.

...Well, that had been buried deep. He smirked at himself.

He climbed up out of the shallow water and onto the solid outcropping under the camp, kicking his legs to shake the seawater out of his pants. Maybe he’d remember to roll them up next time. Maybe not. Nobody on the outcropping but him, although someone had left a kit full of fishing tackle tucked against the rocks in the complete faith that no unusual tide or unusual thief was going to sneak off with them. Probably the fisherman would come back when the tide was further in.

He strolled up the slope to a quiet camp. Fewer faces in the late morning than he’d feared. There was a girl he didn’t know with slim shoulders and wiry arm muscles doing repairs on one of the trailers, and Toby’s surfboard was jammed into the sandy ground next to a tent. The mesh door was transparent enough to reveal a still silhouette; Toby was napping. The ventilation fans were going on a couple of the trailers, so the inhabitants were home, but not out and bothering him.

Aside from the girl with the toolbelt, the only other inhabitants in view were two machamp; they were crouching by the freshwater pool in the center of the camp, scrubbing taro roots and peeling yams with absentminded four-armed dexterity.

There was the loud buzz of a pager, and one of the pokémon freed a hand to grab and read it. The two fighting-types had a brief, unintelligible conversation, and the one with the pager surrendered its half of the root vegetables to the other before pulling on a pair of padded gloves and trotting towards the path to the Pokémon Center.

A ride machamp. Huh. Must be with someone in camp-- unless it just really enjoyed cleaning taro root and dropped by camp just for the privilege.

The most central trailer was a nice semi-permanent job with steps built up to the door and a storage shed wedged between the back of it and the steep jut of rock that separated the coast from the desert. The door banged open and Hibiscus breezed out, dressed for work. She looked very different in the daylight, in a professional mode; her flowered blouse was tucked into a sensible skirt, her sandals were more delicate and her hair was pinned back. She’d put on a little makeup, neutral shades around her eyes that made her look dignified.

Professional Hibiscus wasn’t quite the same woman as evening matriarch Hibiscus, but both of them were intimidating in their way.

“Where’s Sencha?” she asked the remaining machamp, who rumbled something back. “All right, I thought she might be. Put those in the basket for Milo when you’re done. Thanks, dear.”

Then she noticed Nanu: “Oh, it’s you. You’re late for breakfast. Lunch won’t be until Milo wakes up to make it.”

“Ate at the motel. I was looking for someone, actually.”

She lofted a shaped brow. “Oh?”

“The guy with the magazine. Thin, young, blond, absentminded. Molayne.”

“Ah.” She shook her head. “You’ll have to wait until evening. In the off season he comes down for lunch, but now it's almost trial season-- he's always busy. He's a trial captain, you know."

"Is he?" Nanu's brow furrowed. "Huh. I thought--" No, never mind. He must have been wrong. His brain kept disappointing him.

"He'll be back this evening for dinner," Hibiscus offered. "Right now he'll be up the hill at work. At the observatory."

"How old is he, again?"

"Nineteen," Hibiscus said, matter-of-factly.

"My ass." No. He was sure the young man wasn’t _that_ young. Sure of it. He thought he was.

"Language,” she said, automatically. “This island needs at least one trial captain. He's nineteen."

Ahah. He hadn’t completely lost it. "How long has he been nineteen?"

"Oh, about three years now."

"Right." Tradition. Fine. People were supposed to hand over the title at nineteen, so the Kahuna could assign new kids for the next round of valuable life experience-- but Ula'ula hadn't had a Kahuna in a good sixty years. It was all a little awkward. Given the stick up Ron's ass, he'd no doubt stuck to the letter of the law, given up his title in a timely fashion and must not’ve found someone to replace him, and the captain Nanu had defeated as a kid would be in her forties these days, so it wasn't so surprising after all that Molayne was holding things down alone.

"Why do you need him?" Hibiscus asked.

"Just had a question for him. I'll stop by this evening."

"Good!" She beamed approvingly. "I'll make sure there's plenty of food for you. You need to take some back with you, I don't know what you can cook in that little room. In fact, let me pack up something for you."

"No, that's all right. I was going to head into Haina."

She looked down at his bare feet. "Not like that, you aren't."

"I'll be fine."

"You'll fry like a malasada two steps in."

"I have boots."

"You're not planning to wear them."

He glared at her, because she was right, and he resented being mothered by someone his own age. Even if he had been planning something stupid. Possibly because he'd been planning something stupid.

"Oh, wait here. No, wait. _Sit_."

She vanished into her trailer. He perched on the stoop, resisting the urge to roll his eyes like a petulant teenager. He shot a glance over at the machamp by the fire; it seemed to be focusing very intently on the roots it was scrubbing. The faint smile on its face was probably his imagination. Probably.

“Here,” Hibiscus said, trailer door clanging shut behind her. She held something out to him, shoving it into his chest when he didn’t reach for it right away.

He grabbed it, and looked down at a pair of mostly new sandals.

“Every time my brother visits he leaves his sandals and buys new ones. He’s got small feet, like you,” she observed bluntly. “Take them.”

“All right. Thank you.” He leaned back slightly, as if he could avoid any more aggressive kindness, but he’d have had to be a lot faster to avoid her other arm coming up, poking him in the chest.

He juggled the sandals into one hand, pushing her hand lightly away with the other.

“And if you’re not here for lunch and you’re not here for dinner I’m sending someone to get you. I don’t know what you’re eating. Not much, by the feel of it.” She sighed. “I have to be in Malie in twenty minutes. Try not to starve, all right? Shoo.”

Dismissed as quickly as he’d been called. He smothered a smile. Shame Jane was packed up on some floating lab somewhere; he’d like to lock the two women in a room and see who came out on top.

“Uh. Thanks.” He said, and then made sure he didn’t wince.

“I will see you this evening for supper,” she said firmly. Then: “You do know how to get around Haina?”

“2-1-4-3,” he replied automatically, just a hair away from chanting it in the sing-song rhythm he must have learned in the cradle. He bit down before he could follow up with one of the rhyming couplets, but Hibiscus’ little smile made it clear she knew Mind Reader.

“Good,” she said, striding away. “Alola.”

He put the sandals down after she left, sliding his feet into them. They fit. Well then. Another kindness he would need to repay. Another kindness he hadn’t earned. But his feet were already glad to be off the hot ground.

He looked to the machamp, who waved him goodbye with one set of hands without looking up from the new taro root it was scrubbing with the other set.

“...Alola to you too,” he said to it, and shuffled past towards the desert.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to all be handled as a couple of 500 word transitional vignettes, once upon a time. Back when the length of this thing was under control. Then Characters Happened.
> 
> \--  
> ETA: Some slight edits this morning as feedback from our pidgin beta (sir not appearing on this website) came in. 
> 
> As the conversation with Aether implies, Nanu has been slipping unconsciously back into his native dialect since he arrived-- he perceives conversations as completely normal because to him they are. He only becomes aware of his pidgin blend of Alolan and (insert vague pokemon standard language here) when he's forced to think about it. 
> 
> Please imagine him slipping at the end of the long Interpol op and telling some impatient dick to 'Try wait' and his fellow agents trying desperately to determine _where the hell this man is from_. We do.


	11. Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desert. Breakdown. Religion. Desert again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not only are we both RL busy but this got really... really long. Hi, everyone!

The break in the rock walls that led into Haina was only marked by the desert itself; a spill of golden sand out onto red earth, a dry, bright place almost supernaturally contained. Ula'ula-- all of Alola-- was like that. Contained. Set in its ways. The big mountains broke the weather off the sea, tucked the wind and water into their respective places like they were a family cleaning house.

The wind was channeled down the southern coast, but the clouds were skimmed off and sent north, to lush route 11 where you had your clockwork afternoon shower, to Malie where it rained once or twice a week. A few wisps of it made it west to drizzle on the meadows and the highlands. None of it went down here, though, and very little of it got as far as Blush Mountain, either. You got half an inch a year at best.

Cupped in the arms of all three mountains, Haina Desert was even dryer than the coastline; no cool sea breeze reached that place. The air was stripped of every drop of moisture and lounged around baking. It was sluggish and stagnant until the whole desert boiled over like a pot, hot air bubbling up and cold air slamming down and kicking up a hell of a storm, but when the storm ended it’d go back to baking. Until night fell, of course-- when the sunlight vanished, so did the heat, and cold dry air rushed where the heat had been in like one long gust of Freeze Dry.

Hibiscus had been right about the sandals. Of course she had. The grains of sand that spilled onto his feet with every step were like embers; if he'd been barefoot it would have been like walking on coals. He could feel sweat mixing sluggishly with the layer of sunscreen he'd put on when he left the motel; it'd melt off him before long.

He'd known it was a fool's errand, trying to find one pokémon in the whole desert, but it really only hit home how absurd it was now that he was here, with the shimmering desert and its dead ends and mirages and vast nothing spread out around him.

He might die out here. People did, if they were stupid, and came out without water. He didn't have any water.

...the thought didn't alarm him much, honestly.

He took a step in, and then another, toward a half-visible stack of rocks. Long ago, someone had mapped the desert according to their own strange logic, and the markers they had made, the stacks of rocks, survived like nothing else. No sign, no plaque, nothing but a bare stack of rocks had ever outlived the wind and sun. They weren't the original markers, no, but the time between replacement was measured in generations, not years.

Maybe the guardian had something to do with that, too; compasses spun here, positioning systems failed. Even before the last kahuna had turned on Tapu Bulu and brought its wrath down on the human inhabitants of the island, it hadn't been a social god. Now, it seemed to want as little to do with humans in its sacred places as possible. Unlike its siblings on the other islands, it didn't want visitors, it didn't want supplicants, and it wasn't about to make the way through the desert any easier on anyone. So you grew up learning to follow the cairns, taking the long way around, and not do anything stupid like try to take a short cut.

He’d camped out here as a kid, once upon a time. When he was fourteen or so he'd studiously run the numbers and researched moves and decided he needed a sandile, and he'd come out here to find one. A while after that, but still longer ago than he wanted to think about, he'd let it go here too, because Sandy hadn't wanted to leave Alola any more than Goldy had.

Maybe that sandile was still out here, sunning and scrapping. Maybe it had found another trainer, a better one, and it was long gone.

He'd told Goldy he'd try to check in on his other old partner, though, and he couldn't ignore a duty to someone else as easily as he could ignore things he needed to do just for himself. He'd've been turfed out of Interpol pretty fast, otherwise.

He wasn’t twenty paces in before he felt the desert swallow him; looking back, the break in the rocks was almost invisible, as if he was looking at it from the wrong angle. The whole world could have been nothing but volcanic ridges and greygold sand.

_2, 1, 4, 3_

Follow that. Even if it seemed wrong. Even if you felt like you were walking in circles.

Which he did. He felt like a pile of mistakes and false starts.

Really, who'd miss him if he didn't make it back, though? People would, briefly, but nothing would be lost.

That thought was actually calming; it made the fear of getting lost less urgent. He trudged along with the thoughts baking out of his brain, not registering anything except the stones he was following on automatic pilot. He detoured around the soft little pits in the sand without thinking of it, stepped over the soft ridges that diglett left behind them, kept his footfalls light. At any given time he could see maybe half a dozen sets of black-lensed eyes in the edges of his vision, but the local pokémon didn't seem to be spoiling for a fight.

There was a hot gust of wind, and he braced for a second before it died back down instead of starting a sandstorm. The wind rattled the edges of his complacency, woke up a small nagging voice that said he shouldn’t have come out here unprepared. He probably wouldn’t die-- it was possible, there were one or two casualties every year-- but it was plenty likely that he’d get badly hurt. The volcanic rocks were razor sharp, you could slice yourself open if you blundered into one in a storm; if you were lucky enough not to startle a gabite or sprain your ankle slithering down into a pit-trap. A trapinch would let you go after a test-bite or two to make sure you weren’t something it wanted to eat, but even a test-bite could cut through muscle, leave you bleeding and hobbled...

The thought of dying he was at peace with. Crawling out swearing because he was an idiot, on the other hand, that would just be undignified. He should have brought repels for an emergency. He was being stupid again, acting on habit as if he had Scrafty at his hip to back him up against territorial ground-types.

He kept going.

He turned around in what seemed like a dead end; as he did, he saw just the movement of the sand as the nosy locals dove back under the surface.  From the new angle he could see the next cairn, and by it a flash of too-much green caught his eye. He had a second of complete disorientation; for a second there he thought he'd taken a very wrong turn.

But it wasn't a tree; it was a double pair of green, angled wings, attached to a small tan body; a sunning vibrava. Unusual to see one right out in the open-- but no, there was a dun-coloured tarp attached to that rock. A hiker and partner, that made more sense.The world settled into place again.

“Hey!” he called, as he made his way over. Didn’t want to startle anyone and catch a supersonic in the face.

A little face peered around the tarp, and he got a flash of red hair and sharp eyes.

Plumeria disappeared, and then Laura came out of lean-to, resting a light hand on the wary vibrava’s back and surveying the desert. She gave him a long look-over, from sandals to empty hands to hatless head, and then she shook her head.

“You’d better come sit in the shade.” It was more order than offer.

“Thanks.”

The little lean-to was a temporary affair; the lines were only tied with quick-knots, and the center of the entrance was only supported by a single collapsible rod. The tarp was anchored to the desert rock in two places, so the rock formed a side wall, and a third corner was staked into the sand. The excess was draped lazily over the support strut, giving it half a fabric door

Laura crawled into the rearmost corner, back to the rock, settling back into a hiker-shaped impression in the sand. Plumeria was sitting in the corner made by the folded fabric, cross-legged. Nanu tried to fold himself into the remaining patch of shade, shoulder against the rock, legs bent up in front of him. The relief from the blinding brightness was instant; the difference between shade and beating sun was profound enough to overshadow the cramp in his knees as he pulled his legs a little closer to his body.

Laura’s vibrava shifted a little above them, throwing a stripe of shade with its wings to keep Plumeria’s chosen corner of the lean-to extra shady, and settled again.

“Where’s your water?” Plumeria asked sharply, after a long examination.

“Why aren’t you in school?” he countered, because he’d prefer not to sound like an idiot out loud when he already looked like one.

“It’s Saturday,” Plumeria said. “How do you not know that?”

He shrugged. “Time gets away.”

“I hear that,” Laura murmured. “But seriously, where’s your water.”

Damn. “I didn’t think I’d be out here that long.”

Plumeria gave him a withering look. “That’s _dumb._ You’re dumb.”

He lifted his brows slightly as if to say she was lucky he found her blunt pragmatism charming. She pursed her lips and lifted her chin in return, informing him that his opinion was irrelevant.

Laura smothered a smile. “I’m teaching her about desert survival today,” she explained to Nanu. “She’s doing great. Picking the essentials up quickly.”

“I can see that,” Nanu said. “I was looking for a sandile. My feet got away from me.”

Excitement warred with wary judgement in Plumeria’s round face. “Are you going to catch a pokémon?”

“No.”

Instant disappointment. Her attention slipped away and she squirmed for a more comfortable position in their strip of shade, wriggling and digging the heels of her worn, light-green sneakers into the sand.

“I let one of my old partners go in Haina, and I was going to check in on it. If it’s still around.”

“We could help you look,” Laura offered instantly. “I have water, it’ll be safer for you to have a group with you.” The you-idiot was only implied.

“It’s all right; I ought to just head back. It’s probably a lost cause.”

“What if it’s upset that you came and it missed you?” Plumeria asked. He startled; he hadn’t thought she’d been listening anymore.

“It probably barely remembers me.”

“I’d be upset,” she muttered. “You have to try harder.”

He tucked that away. Who came and went so infrequently in her life-- and had she missed them once, or was she scared that she someday would?

Either way, the kid was right. There was a duty and he couldn’t shirk it. Dammit.

“All right. I’ll look harder.”

The vibrava on top of the rock shuffled around again, angling its solid body to look into the tent and turning the full focus of one round eye on him. It chirruped a question at Laura.

“Hey, good idea,” Laura said, in response to whatever it’d said. “I caught Vibrava around here when it was a trapinch. It knows the desert really well. It might be able to find your friend.”

“I called it Sandy,” Nanu admitted. “If that helps.”

Plumeria’s eyeroll was devastating beyond her years. Laura smiled; she seemed to find that... ugh. Endearing.

“This was more than ten years ago, though. It was living near the meteor crater when I caught it.”

“You think you could ask around?” Laura asked, and the vibrava hummed back. “A sandile named Sandy that lived here a long time ago, whose trainer had red eyes?”

It buzzed an agreement, wings blurring briefly as it tested them out.

“If there’s a sandstorm we’ll be in the ruins, like usual. Thanks, buddy!”

The vibrava hummed and then shot away, going from motionless to a receding streak without a visible transition; it skimmed over a ridge and the desert swallowed the sound of its wings.

“I can’t wait until I’m old enough to have a pokémon,” Plumeria sighed, once it was out of sight.

“Yeah?” Nanu asked. Laura smiled and leaned her head back against the rock; he could almost feel a baton being passed. She’d obviously had this conversation with the kid before and now it was Nanu’s turn.

“I’m going to train pretty ones. A lapras and a salazzle and a milotic and a dragonair,” the girl said decisively.

“Not a bad team,” he mused. Not the kind of team that’d probably survive long out of childhood daydreams, but you never knew.  “How’re you going to deal with electric types, though?”

She gave him an affronted look. “They’re going to be _really strong._ ”

He thought of Goldy, and his mouth pulled to one side. “Fair enough.”

“Why did you leave your sandile behind?”

“I was heading overseas to the academy. It was cold there. Neither of my pokémon wanted to go. I couldn’t blame them.” He lifted a shoulder. He could feel sweat sliding down under his shirt, a sudden prickle that brought home how uncomfortable he was.

“Then you shouldn’t have gone,” Plumeria decided, unaware that she was echoing an internal voice that had kept him awake at nights until years after he’d graduated.

“Maybe.”

He had another sharp pulse of un-homesickness; he’d love to be in the harsh air conditioning of HQ right now. He wished he could talk his situation out with Purr. And Scrafty was a good detective, if a little bit by the book-- it would have been able to case the desert and track down leads on Sandy.

But it hadn’t turned out that way, had it. He wasn’t cut out to be a trainer, maybe. He lacked the commitment.

Plumeria was waiting for him to say more, and when he didn’t she scowled at him and then pretended to be ignoring him. Laura seemed to be half asleep, eyes shut and breathing slowing.

He really should wait another ten minutes before he even tried walking again; his skin felt like it was still cooking itself with stored heat. ...shouldn’t fall asleep, though, tempting as it was, even in this awkward position. He’d only feel more dehydrated when he woke up.

He focused on the bright sand outside until his eyes watered, and then shut them and tried not to focus on the rock digging into his back and the way his knees were protesting. Everything was still except for their breathing, and Plumeria’s fidgeting.

“I’m bored,” Plumeria said after a while.

Laura didn’t open her eyes. “Are you?”

“ _Yes._ Can we go?”

“Remember what I told you when we stopped?”

Plumeria dropped her gaze, watching the sand flow as she ground her feet against the it, carving out deep furrows with her heels over and over even as the fine grains slithered back in to fill them up.

“I told you we were going to stop for an hour, so you’d better be sure you were really tired,” Laura said, when the girl didn’t answer. “You said you were really tired and you’d rest quietly.”

“I was really tired!”

“Then rest.”

“But I’m not tired anymore!”

“We’re not going anywhere for another twenty minutes.”

“But I’m bored!”

“Read your book.”

“I don’t want to read my book. Can I go look for pokémon?”

Laura considered this. “For five minutes, then you have to come back into the shade and drink some water. Take the whistle. Blow it if anything happens.”

She opened her eyes long enough to fish a silver whistle on a chain out of one of the many pockets on her cargo vest, wrap the chain twice around Plumeria’s wrist, and slap a crumpled canvas hat on her head.

“It’s hot!”

“The sun is hotter.”

The little girl grunted in indignation and scrambled past Nanu and out of the shade of the tarp.

There was just enough room now for Nanu to extend his legs; he bit back a grunt of pain. Not even forty yet and he felt like he was falling apart. ...largely because that diet of vending machine food and an exercise regimen that involved slouching on a couch and turning over in bed, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t have somewhere to point the finger.

“Thanks for sharing the shade.”

“Of course,” Laura said, giving him a bemused look before she settled back to her half-nap. “Hiker’s code. Especially for day-trippers and tourists who don’t come prepared.”

He couldn’t be offended by that; it was true.

“Babysitting in the hiker’s code, too?”

“We all take care of Plum when Hibiscus is at work. Today was supposed to be Ramsay’s day, but he caught a double shift.”

Of course. The unspoken barter of the community; all the adults sharing their skills with the kids. The ones with useful skills, at least-- he, for example, couldn’t teach the kid much, besides how to read a face and how to to engineer a sting.

...Plumeria would probably pick that up way too quickly anyway.

“It’s been rough. She’s been skipping school a lot recently.” Laura said, unexpectedly, and her voice was troubled. “She’s not having fun there. She says the teachers are all distracted, and she’s been asking hard questions. I don’t know how to help.”

“Something happened up in Malie?”

“No? She goes to the classes at Aether House, because it’s closer.”

Laura’s eyes were shut, so she didn’t see his eyes narrow and his jaw set.

Aether again. What the hell was up with Aether?

A sharp thump cut into his thoughts; a gust of wind hitting the tarp like a solid thing. The loose end of the fabric slapped against the support pole with a crack, and he felt the first sting of sand a second before he heard the piercing sound of a whistle.

“Crap,” Laura said, suddenly alert. “Not again. We’ve got to go.”

“It’s just a sandstorm, we should wait it out--”

“Not one of these ones.” She pushed past him, jerking the knots free and collapsing the support poles of the tarp.

He tried to stand up and get out of her way, but his head swum with vertigo and his ears pounded-- dehydrated, he scolded himself-- and his legs threatened to give. He stumbled out of the way, just managing not to fall over Plumeria as she came pelting back over.

“It’s a big one!” she gasped to Laura. “All the ground-types are taking cover, like you said, that’s how I know--”

“Good job, Plum,” Laura said, sparing a brief tight smile as she worked. “Stow this tarp in my bag and let’s go.”

Plumeria nodded so fast her head bobbled; she grabbed the half-folded tarp and knelt to roll it tighter, biting her lip as she tried to get the technique right.

“I’ll hold this end,” Nanu said, going to his knees next to her, and it must have been serious, because Plumeria didn’t complain. He held the edges in place while she rolled it into a tight spiral, and clamped it tight for her with his fingers while she secured the built in tie around it.

With him holding the edges of Laura’s massive backpack open and her pushing the tarp in, they managed to get the tarp stowed about as quickly as Laura was done packing everything else.

The wind was already howling around the higher rocks, but he could actually feel that it was still speeding up at ground level, a little tempest bouncing around the maze of Haina and gathering speed. The sky was going dark with flying sand at an alarming rate.

“You’re sure we should be moving in this?” he yelled to Laura.

“We’re close enough to make it. Better than being out in it,” she yelled back, pulling a pokéball out of one of her deep vest pockets. “Dugtrio, go!”

The ground-type plunged into the sand, turning a quick circle, three sets of eyes taking in the desert in every direction.

“We’re heading to the ruins,” Laura said, pointing  to the next cairn. “Scout ahead of us! Keep us out of pits and rough rocks!”

“Trio!”

It ducked underground, leaving a wide furrow of sand, making a straight line to the next cairn. Laura reached into yet another pocket, producing a bottle, and sprayed a protesting Plumeria across the back with repellent before shoving the bottle into Nanu’s hand.

“Grab my belt, we’re going,” she told Plumeria, and they plunged into the blowing sand, heads down, following the quickly melting ridge of the dugtrio’s tunnel.

The wind was trying to scour his skin straight off-- Nanu understood now why Laura hadn’t been willing to wait it out. It was evening-dark and the hot wind was going cold; the storm had ripped the hot upper layers of sand off and found the cooler deeps already. His exposed skin stung, the pain already settling into a burn. He could feel his feet being buried by the moving sand step by step, and the air felt like it was getting sucked out of his lungs.

Visibility pulled in-- at first he could see ten meters, then five, then not even that; the dugtrio made a sharp turn and Nanu almost lost sight of the others as they veered off, realizing a moment before they disappeared that he was about to walk off alone into the storm..

There was no hope of keeping his sense of direction; he put his faith in Laura’s pokémon and ploughed forward as the wind deafened him and the sand stung his eyes.

The front of his sandal caught against harder ground, and he almost fell; they were on rocky soil, veering sharply to one side, and there was a black shadow with a blacker center; a rock wall, and the entrance to the old temple.

He ducked forward into warm, black stillness, and almost fell over Laura and Plumeria just on the threshold.

It was like breaking the surface of the water; the wind skimmed right over the doorway and left the temple entrance warm and stagnant. The howling wind was reduced to a dull roar, drowned out by the ringing in his ears.

It would have been cool in here, compared to the sun; it was a warm bath compared to the chill of the storm. He sucked in a breath of air not saturated with sand, and started to cough.

“Water,” Laura rasped and thumped him on the shoulder with a canteen.

His attempt to thank her was lost in more coughing; the first sip of body-temperature water just made the coating of dust down his throat feel muddy. He spat into the corner and took another sip, this one actually making contact with his tongue, and he chased it with two greedy swallows.

He shoved it back at Laura instead of letting himself drink anymore, and she nodded to him before taking a few more drinks. He found a patch of flat wall to sit against and sat down against it gratefully.

Plumeria dug in her much smaller backpack and produced her own water bottle, a pink plastic so bright he could see it even in the wan light that had filtered through the sandstorm and into the doorway. She was making herself sip it, which was excellent self control for someone under ten.  

“Never seen one this bad,” Nanu said. His lips cracked around the words. He coughed again, just a little, clearing up the mud at the back of his throat.

“I’ve seen a few,” Laura said wearily. She rummaged around in her bag, pulling out a solar lantern; when she turned it on, a pale white light threw slightly darker shadows behind them, illuminated just enough of the tunnel to make the worn down old carvings a little more menacing

“Nobody else had seen something like this before a few months ago. When--”

“The big storm happened,” Nanu guessed, catching her nod without satisfaction.

“Uh-huh. We'll rest in here for a while. Do you want to go in and see the altar, Plums?" Laura's voice sounded flat; the heavy air seemed to swallow it before the stone walls could throw it back.

“Uh. No.”

The tone in her voice puzzled Nanu, until he focused on the shadows further down the hallway, and realized how crowded it actually was in here.

The walls and ceiling were alive with long bodies and twitching wings, vibrava and flygon crawling over each other and then settling in to rest. The floor was carpeted with scaly bodies, and something he’d thought was a big pile of fallen rocks turned its hammer-shaped head to look at him. It was hunched over a little clutch of toothy balls, little gible stumbling over each other restlessly under the protection of the garchomp’s finned arms.

“You always get a few in here during the big storms, but it’s been getting so bad that even stronger pokémon take shelter,” Laura murmured.

“My book said not to go into caves because desert pokémon sheltering there are territorial,” Plumeria said, voice rising in pitch and lowering in volume. “My book said to wait where you are.”

“You’re safe in here, Plum. You’ve got repellent on, remember? Besides, this is Tapu Bulu’s temple. Nobody attacks anybody in here.” Laura rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

“She’s right. This place is sacred,” Nanu said. “They know that as well as we do.” He said it as a fact-- it was a fact. He knew it the way he knew his name and old designation.

The garchomp turned back to its babies without another glance to spare for the three humans. The writhing mass of the ceiling was mostly still, now, except for the occasional buzz of wings and some low, humming snores.

“Is your vibrava going to be okay?” Plumeria whispered.

“Yes. It’s very strong, and it knows this desert. It’ll find us soon.”

“How long are the storms?”

“Not too long. Could be a few minutes, could be an hour. Why don’t you  have a nap?” Laura offered. “When this blows over we can head straight back out to the camp.”

“I’m not tired.”

Sure she wasn’t. In the gloom, the two adults exchanged a glance. Laura shrugged and settled down herself, backpack between her knees, slowly organizing the mess of jammed-in stakes and pads and tarp that they’d left in their sudden scramble.

Plumeria stared out into the blowing sand, so thick across the entrance that it could have been a wall. She was thinking hard about something.

When she turned to Nanu, her eyes were narrow and focused.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, in a determined tone that made it clear the politeness was a formality.

“Oh no,” Laura muttered.

“Can I stop you?”

“What happens to people when they die?” Plumeria said, ignoring him.

“...what?” He’d been halfway fearing a childlike grilling about interpol or biology. This was unexpected and possibly worse.

“When humans die,” she clarified carefully. “What happens to them.”

He blinked. He was entirely unqualified to have this talk with anyone. “...You know, that’s something you should ask--”

“My mom? That’s what Molayne said. Well, I did ask my mom,” the girl said, impatience in her voice. “I’ve asked everyone.”  

Going by the pained look on Laura’s face, that might be literal.

“Nobody will tell me for sure,” Plumeria went on. “They talk about other stuff instead. Like faith and feelings and remembering. Memories aren’t the same as someone being alive, so don’t say that.”

“How did this... come up?” the tunnel seemed suddenly more claustrophobic; he didn’t want to talk about this. He really didn’t want to talk about this. The shadows crawled and the darkness looked too much like a mouth.

“People keep asking that so they don’t have to answer me,” Plumeria said, scowling at him in the sickly lantern-light. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because I don’t know what happens. Nobody knows.”

“That’s cheating!”

Her face was so distraught that he bit back a sarcastic answer and martialled something a little less combative. He was the adult here, needed to behave like it. “It’s the truth, kid, that’s why nobody will give you a straight answer. We all believe something but you can’t prove it, so how could we be sure?”

“Grownups know things. They know a lot of things! They just don’t tell kids, because they think we’re dumb or we’re scared. I’m not scared.”

“Yeah, one of the things grownups also don’t tell kids is exactly how much we don’t know.”

“Nuh-uh.”

Laura was watching them warily, but didn’t look like she was prepared to jump in and save him.

“It’s true,” he said, meaning it to be final.

“Maybe you don’t know, but someone knows. Maybe you just never asked, just because you don’t know doesn’t mean nobody knows--”

“I’ve seen people die. So maybe give me a little credit for observation.” It just popped out. His mind must have been chewing on it since the conversation started, picked now to spit it out like a worry seed. Laura’s head turned sharply, and Plumeria’s eyes widened. Both of them stared at him.

He glared back at them.

“I know what happens to a body when it dies, I know what it looks like when someone stops being a person and starts being meat. There’s no secret, you can’t see where a soul goes if you look closely. All we get is what’s left, got it? We don’t get to know. We just get to deal with what’s left, and anyone who thinks there’s something better afterwards is lying to themselves.”

Laura’s mouth opened, but she couldn’t seem to find the right words to interrupt him.

“I don’t know, and your mom doesn’t know, and people have told stories about what happens since the dawn of time but they don’t really know either. And the more someone tells you that they do know, the more likely they’re running a scam, all right?”

The little girl digested this, pale but unwavering, upset but unwilling to back away like she should. Sympathy settled in his gut like an iron ball, a hard weight under the roiling anger. It was terrible to know better and go charging forward anyway. She knew she wasn’t going to like what she heard and she was going to ask.

“What do you think. Then.”

“Plum--” Laura finally tried-- too little, too late. He was in too deep to back out now. Plumeria would know if he lied.

“I think we stop,” Nanu said flatly. “I think we just stop. Whatever we were, it’s over and there’s nothing after that.”

“Arceus alive, what is wrong with you--” Laura snapped.

“I’m not upset,” Plumeria said, magnificently composed despite the dangerous waver in her voice. “He doesn’t know either. He said nobody knows.”

“That’s right,” Laura said, giving him a horrified glare over Plumeria’s head. “Nobody knows.”

“There’s a girl at school. Her dad is in hospital. He’s not going to come home.” Plumeria sounded like she was picking her way across stepping stones, like she could slide off of a word and into tears at any moment. He’d really stepped in it. What was wrong with him? He liked the kid, he shouldn’t have scared her, he didn’t have to scare her, he could have told her the truth without putting a sharp edge on it, without being some kind of Tapu-blasted bully about it--

“She’s really little. But she thinks when humans die they become ghost pokémon. And she’s scared because the ghosts are missing. She thinks her dad will get trapped wherever the ghosts are too. What do you think about that.”

“I don’t believe that,” he said calmly, getting a grip on himself now that it was too late to do any good.

“But you don’t know for sure,” Plumeria said.

Laura’s eyes were drilling into him; she was almost daring him to say something wrong.

He held up a hand, silently pleading with her to give him a chance to patch it up.

“It’s true, I don’t. But I’m pretty sure that that’s not right. Because ghost pokémon lay eggs, right? They’re born like anything else. Like us. We don’t understand them, but we know that much.”

“I know that too, I’m not dumb!”

“And I think that it’s a story people like to tell themselves because it’s got a happy ending. I think it makes people feel better.” He met the girl’s eyes. “You have to think about what people feel. Nobody likes thinking about being dead. They can be real jerks when they have to think about it. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Plumeria said, and although he’d never heard Hibiscus say that he knew that the girl was repeating her mother tone-for-tone. “Do better.”

“It’s a nice story. I’d want it to be true, too.”

Who wouldn’t want it to be true. Kids didn’t die scared and alone in the forest; they just changed and found new families to love them. People didn’t freeze to death in the snow; they became something else in the cold, they wrapped their babies in wicker baskets and went murmuring up and down the slopes of Lanakila at night. Nobody stopped, nobody was really gone; they just changed into something different, new, forever.

It was a nice thought, but he’d never been able to make himself swallow it.

“...Okay.” Plumeria considered it, coming to her own unknowable conclusions. She didn’t look happy, but she didn’t look as confused or close to tears as she had a second ago. She was past the edge of horror. “I think I want to read my book now.”

“Sure, Plum, take the lantern.” Laura pushed it closer to her, and Plumeria extracted a thin paperback book from her backpack. It had a boilerplate one-in-a-series banner and a rapidash on the cover. She removed a bookmark from very close to the beginning and hunched over it.

“I’m going to go... look at the altar.” Nanu pushed himself to his feet. Laura rose silently too, shadowing him.

He knew it was coming, braced himself as they stepped into the dark-- when Laura grabbed him, he didn’t take a swing on instinct, just stopped walking.

“What were you thinking?” she hissed. “She’s _seven_.”

“ _I know_ ,” he whispered back, bristling at her tone and hating that she was right and that he’d bought and paid for the lecture.

“Were you even thinking at all?”

“Obviously not.”

They stood there in the gloom, Laura’s strong hand digging fingerprints into his skin, and then her grip eased off a little, firm instead of biting, and she took a little breath. “...Why did you leave Interpol? You’re too young to just retire.”

“That’s none of your damn business.”

“What happened to you?” She sounded like she knew that something had. What did people say about him? What did Ramsay say, when he gossiped?

What did they know? What had they guessed?

Laura’s voice was still hard, but there was the looming threat of pity in it. He jerked his arm free as if she’d burned him. She’d been sitting closer to the lantern and she didn’t have her night vision; he did, and he left her standing there off balance, picking his way through the sheltering sandile and further into the ruins.

The entrance tunnel opened up into a big gallery, surprisingly free of pokémon. It had been open-air when it was built, but vines had grown over it long ago. A little daylight light filtered in, along with the whistle of wind across the smooth old boughs; even with the darkness of the storm there was just enough light not to walk into a wall. He could see the patterns the light must make in the sun, shadowed into the rock.

There were patches of fat-leaved desert plants sprouting on the walls in shapes so distinct they looked like they’d been trimmed deliberately; those would be constant patches of light, too. Here and there were breaks in the rocks where ferns had pushed their way through and grown in defiance of the barren soil and the lack of water.

The sandstorms must be happening more often, or be a lot darker, though. The big ferns were curled up at the edges, withering on themselves, and the succulents were shrinking inside dried-up borders. There was something musty in the air, it was thick with dry rot, and he was pretty sure that if he touched any of the fronds, they would crumble away into dust and mildew.

He’d been here as a kid, a few times. His parents had taken him-- well, his mother had taken him and his father. His grandmother had brought him here once. And there’d been a school trip. It didn’t look quite like he remembered.

Darker, yeah, but smaller. It seemed a lot like the Two Queens had in that way, actually, which was enough to make him choke on a laugh and then on the sand and mud still clinging to the inside of his mouth. He wasn’t sure if Bulu would like the comparison. But what did he know.

Not much. Not enough not to pass his fears off to a small child. Not enough to recognise his Tapu when it called on him.

Which. “Sorry,” he said. “About that.”

There wasn’t an answer. Not that he’d been expecting one. It was empty in here. Just another cave. Wherever Bulu was, it wasn’t coming out to chat.

“I haven’t. Heh. Been at my best, lately. Not that you should care,” he added. “That’s all on me. I should have--” What? Could be a lot of things. He didn’t want to lie, but he couldn’t imagine listing everything that was wrong with him into the dark. “Been better,” he finished poorly. “Sorry.”

On the other side of the gallery was the entrance to the shrine itself, where the worn statue of the deity waited.

He picked his way carefully over, sandals sliding on the uneven stone and a thin layer of sand, stopping in front of it. He veered left when he got to the stairs, pausing at the bottom to squint at the worn wood, up to where they almost disappeared into the dim grey darkness.

A gust of wind hit some crack in the stone just right and came blowing in with a moan, tugging at his hair and the loose sleeves of his t-shirt. There was a faint, sweet smell on the breeze.

The interpol agent in him said it was a coincidence. The island boy in him said that he'd been allowed an audience, and he'd go crazy trying to choose between the two so he didn't let himself think about it at all.

“I figured out what you gave me,” he said. “Took a while, but I got there. Not sure what you want me to do with it, though. Don’t suppose you could give me some direction?.”

His feet took him up the stairs to the altar and the pillar of rock carved in the image of the guardian. He knelt almost involuntarily, and where had that instinct been those-- only four? Nights ago. "I don't need a procedural manual or an operational plan. Just a little direction.” His hand closed up into horns, and he hovered it in front of him for a slow count before letting it drop away.

"If that's all right. I can work without it. I have worked without it. Let's just say the IPD isn't always the best run shop." The words dried up on his tongue, and he dropped his gaze away from the stone face. One instinct said to get a grip and stop being stupid, another reminded him that he'd played in the ruins of the last people to run afoul of the guardian.

The soft, sweet smell was stronger up here, and he stared at the base of the pillar until he made sense of the shadows there. Someone had been in here before him, someone had left an offering, a fresh pecha berry weeping nectar softly from a row of needle-fine holes in the skin.

There was something pressing against his leg, a squashy lump in his thigh pocket; he remembered the malasadas and pulled them out them gingerly, arguing with himself all the way. He unwrapped them and laid the nicest looking one next to the pecha berry. Then, on an impulse, he pulled off the leather thong he hadn't bothered to take off since the Two Queens, untying it to slip the corsola beads and the heart scale pendant off into his hands.

He arranged them next to the pecha berry, already thinking better of it.

"I got them as a joke. But I’m the punchline, not these," he said to the floor, head bowed, hands on his thighs. “They’re beautiful little things. And I never knew what to do with beautiful things. Jane knows that.”

The air felt as if it was listening. It wasn't, he reminded himself. If Bulu could hear him, Bulu didn't care about the details of his social life.

He got slowly to his feet, bracing on the floor and not the carved image. It wasn’t a handhold. It was sacred.

To touch the carving was to invite the guardian. On other islands that might mean that you needed help very badly; it might mean you wanted a fight very badly. No guarantees which you’d get, if you got any response at all, because it depended on how mischievous the guardian was feeling.

On Ula’ula, you knew the guardian wasn’t coming. Hadn’t come to a summons in sixty years; not to heal, not to fight, not to mediate. A handful of island champions had come to pray here and touch the statue and hope that Bulu would honour them with a battle, give any sign that it still cared what the humans were getting up to, and they’d prayed and waited in vain.

He reached out and touched the statue, trying to summon up the appropriate prayer. An apology for all the humans who’d turned on the guardian all those decades ago. A humble plea for guidance.

A second passed-- five, ten, and all he felt was a chill from the stone and a growing awareness of how tired and under the weather he really was.

_Well, Triples, what did you expect?_

“A hint would have been nice,” he murmured to himself. “All right.”

Before he could pull away a chill surged up his fingers and drilled into his arm; he could feel the heat pouring out of his skin. His sense of balance went sideways, but something had a grip on his wrist and he couldn’t move. He smelled salt and rot.

It was over in a second; the stone was cool but not cold under his fingers, up was the same direction it had always been, and nothing was touching him.

He snatched his hand away. He was panting.

It hadn’t been an angry feeling. It hadn’t... hit him like an attack.

It had felt like desperation.

“Are you... alright?”

Nothing but the wind flowing through, dying down from a moan to a sigh and hitting him in little puffs just slightly out of synch with his own breathing.

He bowed his head to the carving and left, shaken.

The light out in the gallery was still grey-tinted, but it was a lighter shade of mud; the storm must be dying down outside. It had all been gray smudges before, but now he could pick out the different coloured stones in the carefully tiled floor and see the shape of leaves and blooming flowers in the worn down wall-carvings. Things looked less dire now. The plants weren’t in as bad a shape as he’d first thought; there were new growths he hadn’t noticed, little green runners defiantly climbing out over dead leaves.

He could also see that he wasn’t alone after all; nestled in a spill of sand was a round little  pokémon, and watching it from the shadows was a larger white figure.

The gible growled at Nanu without much conviction, baring its teeth impotently; the absol reached out of the shadow and patted it softly on the head with one three-toed paw, a very gentle rebuke.

“You again?”

The absol gave him a patient look.

“I heard a legend about absols. That you can tell when there’s a disaster,” Nanu said.  “Pretty sure it’s my life you’re sensing. Sorry about that.”

He thought he almost saw a smile on that ink-black face. The absol put its forelegs together primly, tucking its dark slash of a tail under it. It scooted the little ground-type toward him with its horn; the gible tucked its stubby arms in defensively, becoming even more spherical.

“What?”

The absol looked pointedly at the young pokémon, and then out at the entrance hall.

“...Oh, is that my problem now? Fine. Let’s get you back to the family,” he addressed the gible. “What are you doing in here, anyway? You’re too small to be off on your own.”

The gible bit him when he picked it up, but not very hard. Most of a gible was mouth; biting was how it experienced the world. He had a moment of -- not fear, but discomfort, all right, not fear-- but looking down at it, at its bright little eyes and almost trusting expression, the memory of a larger mouth settled back down under the surface again. The little ground-type hadn’t even broken skin, just left a series of little evenly-spaced dents on his hand. Needle-fine little teeth.

“...You’re a very faithful gible, aren’t you?” he asked, and in his own ears it sounded more sarcastic than he meant.

It didn’t seem to register his tone; maybe its line didn’t have a native sense of sarcasm, or maybe it was just too young. The absol, on the other hand, huffed through its nose at him.

The dark-type gave him another long stare and seemed to decide that he had the situation in hand. It rose to a crouch, hind-legs tense, and then launched itself up and away; it landed lightly on the wall and seemed to hang there for a moment before it pushed off at a new angle, clearing the walls of the gallery and catching the tangled ceiling with its claws. It wriggled gracefully up through the vines and was gone.

The gible watched this all with wide eyes.

“Give it an evolution or two and you’ll be able to jump like that yourself.”

It looked up with a complete lack of comprehension-- not much opportunity to pick up human language out in the desert wastes-- but Nanu’s milder tone of voice seemed to encourage it. It tucked itself into the crook of his arm and didn’t get its teeth involved again when he put his other hand on its stomach to support it.

Its hide was cool, smooth as long as he was careful; rub it the wrong way and he’d scour the skin right off his hands. It must be very, very young, weeks not months out of the egg, because it was still small enough to support without straining his shoulder. Mostly. All right, the further he walked the heavier it felt, but he walked calmly and kept his arm steady because it was a trusting little thing and its parent would cheerfully disembowel him if he betrayed that trust.

The light got clearer and brighter with every step; he could see the dappled patterns of the vines by the time he hit the entrance hall, and once he was a few steps down that he could see the sharp shadow of the sunlight slanting through the entrance.

Much less crowded now; a few lazy nappers clinging to the ceiling or tucked into the corners, the garchomp and its brood, and the two humans. No, take it back, the vibrava clinging to the wall above Plumeria’s head and doing a good impression of reading over her shoulder was Laura’s partner, not one of the wild ones that’d taken shelter.

Laura saw him, and she gave him a bewildered look.

The garchomp’s attention fixed on him immediately, and it let out a little hiss, dropping its jaw to show its complement of large teeth. He forced himself not to flinch and set the prodigal gible down, well out of striking range, and let it waddle happily back to its family. The garchomp gave it a sniff, and then scooped it into its arms.  It’d obviously been waiting for the little wanderer to come back; now that the gible were assembled the garchomp led them in an unruly herd out into the sun away into the desert.

Laura held her breath until she was sure that Nanu wasn’t about to be maimed, and then let it all out at once. “...that was dumb, even in here.”

Plumeria looked up from her book. “What was dumb?”

“Never mind. I don’t want you getting ideas.”

“Don’t tempt fate. Not even if an absol tells you to,” Nanu summarized, less than helpfully.

“What? Is there an absol? Really?”

“It left,” he said apologetically. “But it’s been popping up lots of places it shouldn’t be. Keep your eyes peeled, kid, you’ll see it one of these days.” He couldn’t be the only person it was staking out, after all.

Laura gave him a dubious look, and he held up his hands. Honest deal. She stared him down for a second, and then decided that he at least he believed what he was saying-- even if it was insane-- and he wasn’t actively trying to ruin Plumeria’s day any more than he already had.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway. Vibrava found your sandile. It’s doing okay.”

Vibrava rotated its head to look at him, and sing-songed its agreement.

“It’s back out by the meteor crater like you thought. It didn’t come back with Vibrava because it... was busy,” Laura said.

Plumeria sighed, put a bookmark in her book-- very near the end-- and closed it. “She means it doesn’t want to see you.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“That’s what it means, though.” She jutted her little chin.

It must be a curse to be so observant that young. The padding of the little white lies was all you had some days.

“It’s been ten years. It’s all right,” he said. It was only barely a lie. They’d all made their choices and parted ways. He’d known he couldn’t come back and pick up where he left off. “I know it’s all right, and that’s plenty. It doesn’t have to want to see me.”

“I’m sorry though,” the little girl said. She bit the inside of her cheek, thinking the issue over.  “If you’re lonely I bet Mom would let you talk to Matcha and Sencha,” she decided. Problem identified; problem solved. Oh, she was her mother’s spitting image. “They’re good listeners and they give good hugs.”

“...Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” This time he made an effort to not sound sarcastic; the result was just ‘gruff’. He’d take it. “I’ve got some meowth rooming with me. They’re good company. You can come meet them some time if your mom says it’s okay.”

She offered him a small, cautious smile. “Okay.” Then, quickly, reciting it dutifully-- “Thank you very much.”

“Ready to head out, kiddo?” Laura asked her. “Let’s see if you can lead the way back.”

“Okay. We should all drink some some water first.”

“That’s right,” Laura said approvingly. “That means you,” she told Nanu, less approvingly, and slapped him in the chest with a canteen.

Once they’d hydrated themselves to Plumeria’s satisfaction, they packed up and stood bracing themselves at the threshold; Nanu could feel the heat radiating off the desert, knew it would double in intensity once the sun was actually on them. He could feel a similar hesitance in the others.

“Let’s go,” Plumeria said, and pushed forward defiantly into the bright. Nanu and Laura followed her, stepping out into foreign territory.

“It’s all changed!” Plumeria said, squinting left and right at the new landscape.

“The sand will do that,” Laura agreed. “But the stone markers stay the same.”

Plumeria composed herself quickly, as if she hadn’t been startled. “I see the one we need to go to. Let’s go.”

“Atta girl,” Nanu said, quietly enough that she didn’t hear.

Brave kid. He was glad she was okay after his little... whatever that had been. It needed to not happen again.

It felt distant, though, like everything that had happened before that cold clammy altar room was from a different era from the things that came after. Whatever that had been, at the altar, he’d come out the other side of it, and maybe he was gaining a little ground on the shadows in his head.

 

He set the greasy wrapped bundle of his two leftover malasadas in the sand just outside the doorway; they might not get to Sandy, but someone would enjoy them. Maybe Bulu would even enjoy the one he’d left. Who knew?

They set off together into the desert.


	12. Trial Captains and Errors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu has a dream, and then a chat about the Z-ring, and then dinner. He comes to some conclusions that are completely reasonable and completely incorrect. Molayne is a very stressed out young man.

_He was arguing with his old director again. He didn't remember how it had started, what pretext he'd been called into the office for, but it had gone the same place it always went, no matter how many times he thought he’d settled the issue._

_It was just a stream of words without meaning battering at him now, enraging and exhausting because no, no he wasn't going into the field again. No, it didn’t matter what new point the director had come up with to argue, or how many times it repeated, he wasn’t going into the field. The argument kept sliding around under him, making him feel seasick. The director’s desk was tilting, papers sliding off ignored, filling him with low roaring panic, because when they hit the water they'd be fucking illegible, was he the only one here who could see that things were falling apart?_

_"You did well with a bad situation; you don't want to leave because you did well; look at your report; look at this, do you see this? You should be in the field, look at this. This? You want to go back into the field."_

_The director held up a page, words crawling across it, rearranging themselves, his own writing twisting into gibberish. A cup of pens teetered on the edge of the desk and then fell, shattering on the floor and sinking, pens and all, under the waves._

_The page started to make sense. A grocery list._

_“Look at this. The price of living in Alola. You can’t possibly afford it. You’ll need to stay here until you’ve saved enough.”_

_“How long’s that?” he demanded, feeling trapped in the room and trapped in the chair._

_“Until it’s enough.”_

_“But how fucking long is--”_

_“We’re not finishing this conversation if you can’t show some proper respect.”_

_His chair rocked under him, and he realized that he was dreaming._

_It was a dull realization, not something he could do something about, but it was there at the back of his head. It was enough to get him out of the chair and tripping over his own legs, falling across the swaying floor to the door and through it, stumbling out of the director’s office and into the shelter of the director's office._

_He crashed into the chair in front of the director’s desk, panting. The stone floor under him was still; nothing was crawling around him. He could think in almost a straight line in here._

_"I'm sorry you're not feeling well," the director said gently, words clear and solid. He could almost take hold of them and steady himself._

_"I'm fine." He flapped a hand at the floor. "Not moving anymore."_

_He still knew that he was dreaming, but the dream's logic carried him with it. This was all right. It wasn't the looming beast. He liked the director. It was all right._

_"Sit a while. Get your bearings. I'll give you as long as I can."_

_He twisted away. "I can't go back. I'm sorry, I can't--"_

_"I need you in the field."_

_The director’s voice was kind and Nanu couldn't meet his eyes-- after a moment realizing that he couldn't even see eyes, couldn't make out his features. Her features? Their voice gave nothing away. The shape of them blended into the office walls, the deep lines in the stone and the dappled shadow. There was an absol sleeping behind the desk, but it was only a carving on the stone wall, but was it? Every time the director moved the outline of them changed; what he thought was a face was only a shadow, what he thought was a rock was an arm. Dizzy, he focused on the director’s desk instead._

_"Your plants are dying," he realized. The shoots of the potted plants seemed to be creeping further and further across the desk every time he took his eyes off them but the leaves were edged in dried-out brown.  "You-- those need water."_

_A nod in the twisting shadows. The director’s voice was weary, drooping like the plants. How long had they been awake? How long had the op been going on? “They will not hold it back forever. I cannot end it alone.”_

_"I'm retired."_

_"I need you," the director said firmly, and his badge-holder slid across the desk toward him._

_He opened it, and the rough stone disk inside was so heavy that he couldn't move his arm._

 

His hand was jammed under the pillow, pinned down by the weight of his head.

Reality sharpened and the dream faded; his legs were tangled in the sheets and his shirt was damp with sweat, but the ceiling fan was throwing down just enough of a breeze that he wasn't completely uncomfortable.

There was just enough of the dream clinging to his brain around the edges that it took a few seconds to be absolutely sure that he'd actually gone through with retiring and made it back to Alola.

He had. Of course he had. He'd been out in Haina just this morning; he'd had a quick lunch at the campground under Laura's watchful eye and then come back to the motel for a nap.

He'd had dreams about being late to school for a long time after he'd been a full-fledged agent; looked like his new flavor of anxiety would be dream-bureaucracy. It hadn't been a nightmare, though. Not really. Not at the end. No gaping mouth and no scream.

He didn't want to argue with Director Hanshaw every night for the rest of his life, but for now it was better than the alternative. His brain was obviously already catching up, it'd tried to match up the old memory with his new life, coming up with odd, unlikely combinations. Like a director he actually sort of got along with, ha. Had he known any higher-ups who kept desk plants? He didn't think so. Just a dream muddle.

He almost felt rested. He felt... all right, bar the usual headache from napping. There was a hot little ball against his back that stirred when he moved, pulling back a little and leaving a sudden cool patch as air hit the damp skin where it had been.

"Fling?"

"Yaw," the meowth confirmed sleepily.

"Mm."  Nobody else was sleeping on him today, but Fling's presence was comforting all on its own. Good old A1.

The luxury of being tired and horizontal and just awake enough to appreciate the fact was intoxicating. He slid his hand out from under the pillow, kicked the blankets off, and settled in to wallow. Fling tucked back against his spine in a slightly different position.

Noise filtered in around him; thumping feet on the porch, rustling in the trees. The scrabble of claws drifting in from the curtained off bathroom-- then the clatter of the wooden shutters and the soft patter of paws.

The mattress shifted as the new meowth hopped up-- even with his eyes shut Nanu suspected it was A3-Notch, the biggest of his regular guests.

The meowth slunk forward, creeping up his arm and onto his side-- definitely A3, little sandbag of a pokémon, all the weight on three paws. It didn’t settle in and claim a patch of his hip; it hovered, leaning forward, vibrating with tension.

Then there was a sound he’d been learning to identify over the past few days, the dull smack of a playful paw contacting another meowth’s head, and Notch launched off his body hard enough to leave bruises as Fling squealed and floundered out of a nap.

He struggled up blearily, head tilting as he got as far as a sitting position and then had to sit there blinking while an ankle-height typhoon raged through the room.

Fling tackled Notch into the cupboards under the sink, and as they rolled away in an angry ball the cabinet door bounced open and spilled cleaning supplies after them. He lost sight of them, but the noises filled in the picture for him; the hollow thump of two fighting bodies hitting a trashcan, the clatter of a chair and then the thumps of canned goods sliding out of their bag and hitting the floor in a little avalanche.

“All _right,_ you two,” he barked. “Take it outside.”

“Mia-?” Fling asked, and then squealed as it was tackled again.

Right then.

He slipped out of bed, sliding barefoot and pantsless toward the sound of the chaos.

It was really only just a play-fight; nobody was mustering up the brutal energy of a real scrap, the action was all slaps and gnawing and a lot of dramatics, no actual attack. Still causing a hell of a mess. The two pokémon were wrestling in the remains of Jane’s gift basket. He’d half-tidied that up, but now the plastic wrap and paper were strewn back across the floor, one lone oran berry rolling along, leaving a skid-trail of juice and mush.

He watched for a few seconds, and then leaned down, shooting a hand into the blur of fur and claws.

Notch went limp in surprise when it found itself dangling from its scruff.

Fling chattered something angry at it, and then sat down in the pile of plastic wrap and started to preen its fur back into place.

“You know what ‘outside’ means? You’re about to learn.”

“Mrr-aww,” Notch grumbled, and sulked in his grip until he dropped it outside the motel room door. The light outside was going red fast; sunset well in progress. It’d be dark by the time he got his pants on.

Fling had put itself back in order; it was stretching now, forepaws on the floor and back in an arch that would leave a human paralyzed. He stretched his own back, a little less extravagantly, and leaned left, then right, feeling the pull between ribs and hips. KR would be having a fit about this. If he were here.

Ugh.

In the real arguments he’d had, the ones that had nudged into his nightmares, Hanshaw had implied that hapless little junior agent 100KR would be ineffective without him. Bullshit. Apparently senior agent 000 was the one just waiting to fall apart.

He hopped into yesterday’s pants; today’s were streaked with dust and had sand lurking in the folds. He’d have to do laundry again soon.

“Going to grab dinner. Want any?”

Fling looked up, making only a token show of not caring before it chirped and pattered over to him, curling its claws in his pant leg and giving a tug to be lifted up.

“Spoiled,” he said warmly, and reached down so that it could climb up to his shoulder.

It purred in approval, patting his cheek and curling its soft tail around the back of his neck for balance.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m well trained.”

He took the stone from its usual place in the ashtray and put it in a cargo pocket. For something that small it was heavy against his thigh, and cool even through the canvas lining.

Notch was waiting for them outside, and deflated in disappointment when it realized that Fling wasn’t going to keep the game going.

“Dinner?” Nanu offered, and it agreed instantly.

“Moooow?” said a shadow, and A4-Diva slipped out into the dusk to join them. Chip followed, looking hopeful, a smoothed down shard of beach glass clutched in one paw. It placed it carefully at Nanu’s feet, and accepted a rub behind its ears regally when Nanu stooped down to get it.

“All of you, huh? ...you’re going to put me so deep in debt with Hibiscus I’ll be finding carbink down there,” he sighed. “At least Chip pays its way. All right. Where’s A5?”

“Meh,” Fling said, and then offered a longer explanation. He realized he was starting to catch the pokémon’s syntax, syllables and grumbles and significant ear-flicks only felt against the side of his face. A5 had… another motel room? No, another house. It belonged to someone.

“It’s getting fed by its family?”

“Yaw,” Fling encouraged him and patted his cheek again.

“Condescending little bastard,” he said, meaning ‘thanks’, and it purred. It had caught up with his own unique syntax about on night one.

“...remind me to tell you about Purr someday.” He didn’t mean now and Fling understood that, settling more comfortably onto his shoulder.

The last deep purple of the sunset faded away. The surf crashed at the shore, almost drowned out by the sound of pikipek and trumbeak calling their flocks home in the trees and the shrubs. A breeze tugged at his hair, the fabric of his shirt, heavy with sea salt and flowers. It was a nice night. “All right then,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The way to the camp was starting to feel familiar. Not the way it had done the first night, half walking through memories, half exploring; this was new, small and fragile like little ribbons of runoff, promising to be streams if they were left long enough alone. He shied away from wondering how familiar he’d let it get. You carved a rut as easily as a stream. You dug a grave as easily as a rut.

Something moved in the shadows up ahead-- a pat pat of sneakers against the ground, and a flash of pink so bright he could see it in the dark.

“You’re late!” Plumeria said, screwing the top back on her water bottle. “I’ve been waiting _forever_ and I’m hungry.”

“You couldn’t go eat without me?”

She crossed her arms. “I said I would wait.”

A worrying thought occured. “...does your mom know you’re out here?” It wasn’t that far from the camp, but it was dark and the wild nocturnal pokémon were starting to stir. And since she was obviously okay and he didn’t have to worry about that, he could start worrying about what Hibiscus might do if she were starting up a search party and found Plum out here alone because of him.

“Is that your meowth?” She was staring up at Fling, still perched comfortably on his shoulder. “Hi, Meowth!”

He felt Fling shift, its tail coiling a little tighter around his neck then sliding away gently. “Maw,” it said.

“She doesn’t think it works that way,” he said. “Does your mom know where you are?”

“Are they _all_ your meowth?” Plum asked, looking down at the ground now, leaning sideways to get a better view behind him. “Can I pet them? Please?”

“They won’t bite. If they know what’s good for them,” he added darkly. “Does your mom know where you are.” Fling chirped, and started to climb down his arm. Okay then. “Here, this is Fling. You can hold her when you answer my question.”

“I told her,” Plum said, sighing dramatically. Which wasn’t an answer, and as quickly as Plum moved to settle Fling in her arms made it plenty clear she knew that too. Three evasions added up to a solid no, in his experience, and she might not be a hardened pokémon trafficker, but Plum was avoiding looking him in the eyes as deliberately as any Rocket grunt ever had.

“Let’s go.”

They hadn’t gone far when a shape loomed up in the dark, high and broad and accompanied by the distinctive clop-and-slap of muddy hooves.

“Hi, Officer Ramsay,” Plumeria said, guilty and trying not to sound it.

“Hello, Plumeria,” Ramsay said, amused. “Hey, early riser.”

“Evening, officer,” Nanu drawled. “Looking for something?”

“Yeah, you two. Hibiscus wants you both at the campground.”  Ramsay frowned seriously. “She said if I don’t find you both she’s not giving me a plate for my lunch break.”

“Can’t have that. We’re coming.”

“We were going that way anyway,” Plumeria said loftily.

“Well, now I’m coming with you, so I don’t get stuck with vending machine noodles in the breakroom.”

Ramsay halted his mudsdale and slipped off its wide back. It fell in behind them, because the path was too narrow for them to all walk side by side. Also, that was the best angle to butt Ramsay in the shoulder until he reached into the pocket of his uniform shirt and handed it something that crunched.

Even in the dim light, Nanu could make out shadows under the policeman’s eyes. He knew those shadows.

“Heard about your double shift,” he said. “Bad luck.”

Ramsay shook his head, looking content despite the fractional slope of his broad shoulders.  “I signed up for it. Last second trade. I needed Monday night free.” He lowered his voice, with a look at Plum. “It’s Ohai’s night off, between the construction firm and the Two Queens.”

Nanu gave him a disbelieving grin, or something resembling one, but there were teeth and there was general goodwill so the policeman could take it or leave it. “That’s quick. The way I heard it, you weren’t a fast mover.”

“I didn’t think I was either. Funny, I’ve known Baby Playrough for years, but I never got to know Darling. Ohai, I mean. Didn’t have much to talk about until you showed up.”

“You’re pinning this on me?”

“You know it.”

He’d been blamed for much worse. He’d cop to being a matchmaker.

“Have fun. Don’t serve him anything with milk in it, he can’t handle it.” And then, considering the combined weight of the two big men: “Try not to break the furniture.”

“Hey, I don’t move _that_ fast!”

“Just keep the risk in mind.”

“What are you talking about?” Plumeria demanded, looking up at them suspiciously. Fling looked smug; it’d probably heard.

“Cute boys,” Nanu said, voice as dry as Haina.

Ramsay’s laugh was drowned out by the mudsdale’s snort.

“Boys aren’t cute,” was Plumeria’s opinion. “Most of them are dumb.”

“Kid’s got her head on straight,” Nanu murmured to Ramsay.

“I heard that,” the little girl warned.

He shared a look with Ramsay, another toothy smile, and then they were heading into the firelight and the relatively restrained noise of the campground.

It was livelier on this side of ten at night; more people were awake and eating, there was more conversation. There were faces Nanu didn’t know. He was suddenly grateful for the shadows at his feet and the ball of fur in Plumeria’s arms; he was less outnumbered with the four meowth tagging along.

He scanned the crowd, such as it was, for a shock of blond hair; he found Molayne behind a folding table by the fire that hadn’t been there for lunch. The gangly young man was working shoulder to shoulder with a sober and coherent-looking Toby, surrounded by a grab-bag and vegetables and proteins that they were assembling with rice. Molayne assembled ingredients, passed the mix to Toby to be stacked neatly with rice and passed on to Toby’s right to be rolled up into tight cylinders of nori and sliced into coins by the massive but apparently-experienced hands of an oranguru.

Might be one of Toby’s partners. Toby trained psychic. ...And would have been able to teach anybody how to make a tight roll.

What it meant was that interrupting Molayne right now was out of the question. Nanu could have sworn he was still too tired to have an appetite, but the prospect of sushi slipped around his apathy and made the idea of actually eating three whole meals in a day worthwhile.

He’d eat, and wait. He didn’t have anything else going.

He heard Hibiscus come up behind him-- she was still in her work shoes, and they clicked against the gravel and made a distinctive thump in the dirt-- but still almost flinched when she cleared her throat.

“Ma’am.”

“Mmm-hmm.”  

He turned to see her with crossed arms and an expression teetering between amused and irritated. He couldn’t see which way the balance was going to tip, so he linked his hands behind his back and assumed a blank-faced slouch that he’d learned for dealing with his superiors early in his career.

“Laura talked to me,” she said significantly. “Are you alright?”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and he suspected it actually showed on his face.

“Not really. I’m taking steps.”

She considered him longer than was comfortable. Obviously she wasn’t pleased that he’d had a nihilistic breakdown in her daughter’s direction. Equally obviously, she was considering what it said about his own state of mind that he’d had it in the first place.

He wished she wouldn’t. He didn’t want to be another person to worry about. He didn’t want anyone but him to feel the weight of his past.

Too bad he was such a fuckup he hadn’t given her a choice. If he could just keep himself together for ten minutes around other people....

“Well, take a few steps over to dinner,” she said, after another few drawn-out seconds. “There’s poi for desert. Make sure you get some.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She tsked. “Call me cousin. I’m not in charge around here or anything.”

“Sure thing, cousin,” he said obediently.

The nod she gave him in return was regal.

He shuffled over to the cooking fire, feeling her eyes on him until he sank down into an empty folding chair across from a dark-haired lass dutifully prodding the fire and stirring a pot, while flipping a textbook on her knee. She didn’t look up and it meant he didn’t have to be rude to another stranger, so that was fine.

The meowth spread out around him like furry ripples on a lake, noses twitching as they oh so casually sauntered closer to the pot on the fire and spread over to investigate the little tins of protein and coolers of fish he could see stacked neatly near Molayne and Toby. Fling alone had wisely opted to suck up to Plumeria, allowing itself to be held and pet and kissed on the forehead charm, and probably guaranteeing itself a whole evening of handouts.

Ramsay was already excusing himself-- dutifully waiting on his plate till his actual scheduled lunch break.

Someone was watching the policeman, Nanu realized. A couple of shadows hanging outside the fire, skulking behind one of the trailers closest to the road. They started a slow drift into the center of camp as Ramsay receded into the distance, trying to sneak, not succeeding. He saw eyes flick in their direction and then back down, unconcerned.

He recognized Kou’s oversized pants before he could make out her features; he didn’t know the girl with her, but she was wearing the same S-emblazoned headband.

He peered into the shadows, but there was no stocky silhouette heading up the rear.

Hnn. Not that he was concerned. But he’d maybe ask where Jase had got himself to, what he was doing. Make sure he hadn’t done anything stupid.

“Alena!” Hibiscus bellowed. “Kou.”

The skulls froze in place. Plumeria looked up from the pokémon lounging in her lap and waved eagerly at them.

“Go take over from Molayne,” the matriarch ordered. “Tell him I need him.”

“Yes ma’am,” they chorused.

“Then come meet these meowth!” Plumeria added.

“Sure thing, Plum-sauce,” Kou said.

Her eyes found him, then, and she lifted a hand to wave-- got it about six inches above her waist before she looked over at the girl next to her and dropped it.

She glanced away, guiltily; then back, more guiltily. He took pity on her and looked down to scoop up Diva where it was batting at the fire, working up to snatching one of the little cooking packets. “None of that,” he said, spreading apart the pads of its front snatching paw carefully, checking for burns. “You’ll have plenty of chances when it’s not as booby-trapped.”

“Yo-yo!” it told him, affronted and hungry _now_ , then slithered over his shoulder and down the back of his seat, rubbing against his face as he went. He spat out meowth fur, and glanced back to the girls-- now settling in beside the Oranguru, starting to work under its patient direction.

He fidgeted in his chair another second and then stood up; a shadow filled it instantly, Notch snuggling into the warm spot.

“I’m going to want that back at some point.”

Notch gave him a defiant look. He rolled his eyes.

He made a circuit of the campfire, once, just observing, and then weighed how odd it would look if he made another one like he was some kind of slow motion jogger. Instead, he drifted back over to the food preparation table, jamming his thumbs into his belt-loops and giving Kou a considering look.

“Been up to trouble?” he asked bluntly.

“What’s it to you, geezer?” the other girl demanded. Alena, that’s what Hibiscus had called her.

“This is that cop that was bugging Jase and me,” Kou said, rocking back onto her heels and crossing her arms.

“He doesn’t look like much,” Alena said.

“Where is Jase, anyway? Up to trouble?”

“Nah, he went soft. He went to his auntie’s house.” Kou made a show of nonchalantly cooking-- not a good show, her movements stiff and her mouth set in a petulant bow. She banged a tin of can-chow onto the folding table with unnecessary force and wrenched the little ring on the top so hard that it popped off without taking the lid with it. “Stupid.”

She produced a pocket knife and flicked out the blunt little knife attachment, flipping it in her hand so that the blade pointed down. .

“Nope,” Nanu said, reaching out instantly, because he’d seen exactly what happened when someone tried to get clever and stab with a blade that lacked any guards to keep it from sliding right back through your grip.  Kou let him take the tin and the pocket knife, looking a little relieved.

It had an ancient and unused tin opener attachment on the other side of the handle; he pried it open, showed it to her, showed her how to use it to punch a hole in the thin lid.

“Now you can use the sharp part,” he said, giving her the tin and the pocket knife back.

“Whatever,” she said, darting a glance at Alena. At least now she was handling the knife a little more sensibly.

“Yeah, don’t act like you’re so smart,” the other girl said sharply.  

He was only going to make things awkward for Kou if he tried to make conversation. She’d obviously rather break out in hives than be seen making nice with an authority figure, however sorry a figure he made.  He grunted at the two girls, and slunk back away from the table.

He almost backed straight into someone-- the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he felt the presence before he ran into it, and he stopped in his tracks and turned on the ball of his foot, winding up face to laryngeal prominence with Molayne.

“Whoa! Sorry.” Molyane stumbled back. “Hibiscus said you wanted to talk? Do you still need to- uh?”

“I-- yeah.” After a second to think and to count the number of listening ears at the campfire, he jerked his head to the side, toward the mostly abandoned rock wall and the gates to the desert. “

The darkness at the far edges of the firelight was comforting-- but not, he realized, a great place to show and tell.

“I had something I wanted you to see-- you got a light?”

“Of course!” Molayne unclipped something from his belt-- it looked like a lighter at first, but instead of flicking off the cap, Molayne squeezed the sides, and it unfolded into a little double-jointed assembly with the clip on one end and a surprisingly bright little lamp on the other. He clipped it to the collar of his shirt. “This good?”

“That works.” Neat little reading light. KR would have liked one--

He cut his own thought off and hunched down to pull the stone out of his pocket, thrusting it into the light. It shimmered between his fingers, the ridges of its surface casting sharp, angular shadows.

“Tapus preserve,” Molayne said, rocking back in surprise. The clip-light on his shirt bobbled. The shadows moved across the stone; the gleam in the depths of it flared. “Where’d you get that?”

“I think--” It sounded stupid. “I saw the Guardian. I thought I was dreaming.”

“And you found this?” Molayne said, staring at it. He jammed out his own arm; the Z-ring on his wrist glinted a counterpoint. The colors weren’t identical, and the face of Nanu’s stone was smaller than the broad inset of Molayne’s ring, but they were unmistakably alike.

“Well. More like--” It still sounded stupid. “The Tapu gave it to me. Dropped it on me, almost.”

And then he’d slammed the door and gone back to bed to wallow in his misery and he wasn’t ever going to stop feeling like an idiot about that.

“It gave you Z-ring ore,” Molayne repeated, sounding almost as stupid as Nanu currently felt.

“Yeah. I just-- you being a trial captain and all, I thought you’d know what it’s for.” It sounded weak now that he said it, young and a little desperate. He wasn’t a child on his island challenge anymore, as much as he was still someone who’d failed his island challenge. The trial captains weren’t mini-kahunas, as much as they’d seemed that way when he could still count his age on his hands. Maybe he should have called one of the kahunas after all. Maybe he should have tried not to make a complete mess out of this.

“...it’s for making a Z-ring.”

“Yeah, thanks, I did get that far,” Nanu drawled.

“I guess … it thought you needed a Z-ring.”

“It’s not for me,” Nanu said, shaking his head once. “I didn’t even pass my trials.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time--”

“I don’t even have a team.”

“...yeah, that would be odd.” Molayne frowned at it. There was an odd tension creeping up his shoulders, a sort of crackle of excitement.

“Besides. I’m a little old to be a trial captain, yeah?” he said wryly, just to see if the young man was even listening, or just ogling the stone.

"Maybe it's chosen you to be the new Kahuna," Molayne said, smiling.

"You think so? I hadn't thought of that."

Molayne’s gaze jerked up from the stone and Nanu held a straight face while the other man’s eyes widened behind his glasses, mouth open slightly as Molayne wracked his brain for the most polite way to tell him ‘that was a joke and you’re delusional’.

"...I'm screwing with you," Nanu said, dropping the earnest idiot act before Molayne could really start to sweat.  "Besides, this island needs a new kahuna like a magikarp needs a charcoal."

Molayne let out a slow breath. "Toby warned me you were an asshole."

"He did? Better judge of character than I gave him credit for."

"Well, he said ‘that buggah is trouble but I like him fine’.' I knew what he meant."

Nanu snorted. "Anyone that guy doesn't like?"

Molayne gave an awkward little smile that didn't get up to his eyes. Huh. Interesting story there, maybe.

"Anyway. So. You're sure this thing isn't for you."

"Yeah. I'm not even much of a trainer when I actually have pokémon. These days...."

"I wonder."  Molayne pulled his wrist back out of the light and tucked his hands in front of his concave stomach. He rubbed a thumb over his z-ring thoughtfully. "Do you have family here?"

"Distant cousins. Nobody I know. My aunty's over on Akala. My folks are all the way in Sinnoh."

"Maybe--" Molayne checked himself. "I've got the other problem, so this might be wishful thinking, but--"

When he paused, Nanu rolled his eyes, nodded to acknowledge the disclaimer, and gestured him to go on.

"It's been hard finding new trial captains." Molayne waved at himself, the proof of that. "We have to take kids all the way over to Poni for Kahuna Ama's blessing, first. Then they have to try to win the trust of a totem pokémon. And the totems have been drifting away from people for years. Since before we bulldozed the trial site on route 14..."

Odd way to say it. "What do you mean 'we?' I was less than a year old. You weren't even a twinkle in your parents' eyes. You had nothing to do with it."

"Humans," Molayne said, surprisingly firmly. "Us. The totem pokémon don't trust us anymore. Would you?"

Nanu didn't have a smart answer for that. He wouldn’t trust most humans on a good day, and the history of the island… well, it wasn’t full of a lot of good days.

"Skarmory still lets me work alongside it, but it's the last one. The others-- you can't just be a trial captain on a Kahuna's say so, you have to prove yourself to the totems, and they won't even show themselves to people anymore."

The knuckle of Molayne’s thumb was going white now with each hard stroke over the z-ring on his wrist. "But people still expect me to make it happen somehow. I've got nieces and nephews at trial age, more cousins than I can count anymore, my family expects me to pick one of them. Everyone I've sent for Ama's blessing has been wrong, even the ones I was so sure could get a totem on their side, they couldn't-- I don't even trust myself anymore. I don't even like answering the phone, in case it's family."

Molayne’s smile was gone, and that excitement he’d had at first seemed to be souring into a sudden attack of stress. Nanu could see why-- and felt a hint of guilt over taking the stone to Molayne. He hadn’t known things were so bad for the kid.

"So. You think the Tapu wants me to choose because I don't have family."

Molayne nodded sharply, expression unapologetic. "And you're a cop, hey? You're trustworthy."

Well bless the guy’s heart. "You haven't met a lot of International Police, have you."

"Just you. But you seem honest." One boney shoulder lifted, fell, half a shrug: "A jerk, sure, but. Under that."

Nanu shook his head slightly. Well. Molayne would learn. "So I'm supposed to. Choose a new trial captain."

"I hope so," Molayne said quietly.. "It'd mean a lot. To everyone."

"...And not just, say, scientific types who are getting too old for the job."

Molayne's eyebrows furrowed up. "I'd be thrilled, yeah, but -- don't you understand? I might be the last trial captain. Don't you know what that means?"

"...we have to ship kids over to Akala and Poni for a while? This has happened on other islands, it always straightens itself out."

"This has never happened on the other islands." Molayne put up a hand when he opened his mouth to interrupt. "Okay, sometimes a Kahuna dies, yeah, all right. The totems go quiet for a while, yeah, true. But it's just bad luck. Not like here. We did this to ourselves.”

“Hey,” Nanu said, frowning. “It’s not that bad, now.”

Molayne barely seemed to hear him. “We turned on the Tapu--”

“That was more than fifty years ago! Stop saying ‘we’ like that, you’re going to get a complex.”

“--we drove the totem pokémon away. We earned this. People think the Tapu gave up on us." He dropped his hand to his other wrist again, not stroking the z-ring now but just holding it, fingers clenched around it like he was afraid it'd fall off his wrist otherwise. "I think that, sometimes."

"It would never give up on us," Nanu said sharply, surprising himself. His horned hand smacked against his thigh to punctuate his words. "It's the Tapu. It's the guardian. It guards us. It still takes care of us. People still get brought down off the mountain and out of the desert. Sick pokémon still get better at the altar." Didn't they. They did when he was a kid. Had that stopped, too, while he was gone? The night felt oddly cold.

"It doesn't trust us anymore."

“That’s not how it is.” It sounded pathetic, he could hear that coming out of his own mouth. What did he know? He’d been gone for years.

"What if I'm really the last trial captain? The last one the island ever has? What if... what if we're never forgiven?"

"It'd be all right," Nanu said, gruff to hide the uneasiness that was settling into him like a chill. "The rest of the world gets along without their gods breathing down their necks."

"We're not the rest of the world. We're Alola," Molayne said, voice rising in pitch and volume both, then shrinking back away from his own panic. "...without the Tapu, we won't be Alolan anymore."

He shifted, looking uneasy and scrawnier and more angular in the indirect light of the little reading lamp. Nanu felt for him, uncomfortably sympathetic.

"Whatever happens, it's not your fault," he said quietly. "Pretty cocky to think you single-handedly ruined everything." It didn't come out teasing; it came out accusatory. There were those people-skills of his, or the complete lack thereof. Hah. There was the hypocrisy, too.

"Some of the old folks say--" Molayne cut himself off. "Nevermind."

"Yeah, I know what the old folks say." Not specifically to Molayne. But that edge of politics. The old guard, pointing the finger at anyone who didn't toe the line, blaming them. Blaming anyone who worked in the new hospital or at the power plant or anywhere the old Kahuna had had a hand in breaking ground--

Like the observatory. Of course. He should have realized.

He'd been happily oblivious to the conflict as a kid, didn't catch on until he was a teenager, but his mother and her fancy gated town and her foreign husband, she'd felt it.

It wasn’t until he was away from it all, on the other side of the academy and looking from an outsider’s perspective, that he’d understood how bad the divide was. In another region, years and thousands of miles away he’d suddenly understood why his mother had been so driven, so hard on him, pushing him to do the trials, to keep the faith, even when she'd never bothered doing her own trials and held her own faith at arm's reach. She'd been... trying to make up for something, maybe, or to protect her son from judgement, or both. It'd just ended up being a wall between them, as high and strong as the one around their town.

It was years too late for her to apologize, or for him to tell her he forgave her. Not that she was gone, he could call his parents in Sinnoh today-- but he wouldn’t know how to bring it up even now, and neither would she.

He hadn’t gotten these sterling social graces from his dad, after all.

The shock of coming home had made him forget how easy it was to leave, back when he felt alienated for reasons he couldn’t understand, back when he and his mother had shouted at each other more than they ever talked. Seeing Molayne now-- a good upright boy and a trial captain and still somehow not sure he was worthy of belonging here--  it brought it all back with a vengeance.

"Forget what they say," he told Molayne, and he could hear how glib and simple he made it sound. Yeah, just forget the whispering voices that follow you around. Just forget the way they latch onto your doubts. Sure. Like he could say anything; he’d run off with the first recruiter who’d offered him a job in another region.

"It won't matter what they think, if there's a new trial captain," Molayne nodded at the stone, face clearing up. "The Tapu gave you a stone, a new z-ring, that's proof it hasn't given up."

"Come on. We knew that. If it didn't care about what we did, route 14 would still be above water."

Molayne sighed. His anxiety was flowing out of him and now he looked tired, and it was strange seeing that play out from the outside. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“It’s like family. You don’t shout at each other if you don’t love each other, right? Probably the same thing with knocking down Megamarts and sinking towns.”

"You're a real Sunny Day, huh?"

"I've been told." His mouth pulled sideways. He tried to make it look kindly, tried to smile more or less correctly. He knew he wasn't pulling it off, but Molayne wasn't looking anyway. He was looking toward the desert, as if he could see through the boulders and into the dunes.

"I'll keep an eye out,” Nanu promised, since it was all the comfort he could offer. “Try to figure out who the new kid's supposed to be. You may be able to turn twenty before you turn thirty."

"Thanks. Though it might be a while. The princess is a lot of people’s last hope and she’s years away from her own island challenge..."

"...the monarch has a kid?" They didn't really have a monarch in terms of job description, but the bloodline of the old chieftains was well recorded. There was some young man kicking around with lots of money and charm and old property, Nanu could probably pick him out of a lineup-- he wouldn't be so young, anymore, just a few years younger than Nanu, and of course he'd be old enough to have a kid now, he berated himself.

"She's only four.  She lives near here, actually. She stays at Aether house because...he's sick, you know? Bad sick. Something in his blood. He's been in the hospital for months. They don't know how long he's going to... be there."

"I didn't know that." And he didn't know he cared, but he did, in a little electric jolt in him. He hadn’t -- it was like celebrity watching, it wasn’t like the monarchs were real rulers, he hadn’t ever thought it would be such a punch to the gut to hear that the guy was dying.

He'd taken a lot for granted, hadn't he, when he came back.  He hadn't been aware of  things sliding out from under his feet like sand the way Molayne had this whole time. Poor guy.

"I hope-- I hope she doesn't forget about her family, growing up with the Aether foundation. I hope she wants to do her trials, hope she wants to be a captain."

Nanu nodded.

"Well, I guess I’ll keep an eye on her, too.” He looked down at the stone. “I’m hoping I can get this off my hands in less than seven years, but if that's what it takes. I'm not going anywhere." If he was lucky there might be someone else who needed it first-- some young person he hadn't met yet. Or one he had.

He looked toward the light of the campground, thought about Kou or Jase or Alena trying to wrangle a totem pokémon, and smirked to himself.

Then, more seriously, he thought about sharp, bright little Plumeria. She’d be old enough for the trials in a few years.

"...was Hibiscus a captain as a kid-?"

Molayne caught up with his train of thought instantly. "Yeah, now that you mention it. It runs in families, sometimes."

They shared a look.

"I'll keep an eye out, generally."

"Thank you," Molayne said, with an uncomfortable amount of feeling.

Then his posture changed fractionally and Nanu had just a split second to decide if he was going to duck out of the way or not. ...He owed it to the kid to try to be slightly less of a bastard, so he stiffened up and stood his ground as Molayne pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you," Molayne breathed.

Poor anxious nebbish with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Nanu patted his lower back, the height difference between them making things awkward.

"It's going to be okay." Wasn't that the kind of thing you said, even if it was probably a lie? He felt Molayne nod; gave him another awkward pat.

He wriggled out of Molayne’s grip like a meowth, shoulders forward and spine back, and rubbed his hands against his trouser legs to dislodge sand that wasn’t actually there. The stone in his hand pressed ridges into his palm.

“I should go back,” Molayne said, flicking off his reading light, not meeting his eyes. “Dinner shift.”  

Nanu nodded, realized the young man couldn’t see him in the sudden darkness, and grunted an affirmative. “I’ll be right there.”

“Don’t get lost,” Molayne said weakly. “Ha-ha.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’ll save you a plate. Hibiscus said you needed to eat.”

Nanu grunted again, and Molayne reluctantly left, shambling his way back toward the fire and leaving Nanu alone with his thoughts.

It made sense, in its way, the idea that he was supposed to pick a new trial captain. The pieces were all there, him being unbiased and a good observer and being able to make snap calls. Yeah, it worked on paper, not taking into account that his judgement was feeling less reliable by the day. It didn’t feel sensible, though-- he didn’t feel unbiased, he felt alone and stupid.

He slipped along the rock wall until sand spilled into the toes of his sandals, and the desert opened out in front of him. The wind was up; the moonlit sand rippled like the ocean as the sand blew over itself, forming little running ridges. A few furrows of sand were running counter to the wind; little black eyes in the dark.

Sandy was out there somewhere, and the faithful little gible-- hell of an offering, it must have gone on quite a journey to get its teeth on a pecha berry. No answers for him, though, out in the sand.

He turned deliberately away-- the shifting landscape was making him uneasy, and he was starting to notice he was hungry again. He’d have to go back, and hope nobody wanted to talk to him.

Of-fucking-course, the second he got back someone did-- Toby found him at the edge of the light as if he’d been looking for him. He had a paper plate in his hand, piled high with fried payapa and sushi.  He pulled it back when Nanu reached for it, smiling a little, making him come all the way into the firelight to get it.

“Good talk with Molayne, huh?”

“Sure.” Nanu snatched the plate with bad grace. “Guy’s a little over-wrought, isn’t he?”

Toby’s eyes hardened, and Nanu almost did a double-take. He’d never seen the surfer actually unhappy about something. It was like catching a headbutt from a usually-friendly slowpoke.  

“He’s got things on his mind,” Toby said, words hard as steel.

“...yeah, he does,” Nanu said, yielding. He’d put a foot in something, all right. “It’s understandable.”

Toby’s sudden iron defense vanished like it had never been there. “I think you’ve got plenty on your mind, too. Hey, you should eat.”

“If I had 50 P for every time someone’d told me that--”

Toby was smiling again, possibly even at his expense. Well color him impressed; it turned out there were some sharp edges under all the smoke clouds after all.

“--I’m going to eat, all right? Tell Hibiscus she can stop sending her troops after me.”

“Sure thing,” Toby agreed easily.

“And about Molayne-- I do get it. I was from Po town.”

Toby nodded at that. “Some people try to please the Tapu by salting the earth so strangers’ gardens can’t grow. Don’t think it’s working.”

Far cry from the drifty dreamer he’d met behind the hotel. “...You know, you’re a little too sharp when you’re not stoned.”

Toby shrugged, and the big lazy smile rolled over his face like a wave on a beach. “I don’t like it either, brah. I’d rather be honoring the Guardian and all the green growing things. But I need my head on straight to take care of Molayne. He oughta be stargazing, not feeling like all the traditions are on his head, getting pushed around by people with salt in their mouth.”

 _And I bet those people are real surprised when they try to push him around and run straight into you_ , Nanu thought. Out loud, he said: “Maybe things will change, and you can get back to thinking about how the wind sounds on Melemele.”

“Mebbe so.” Toby nodded at him. “That’d be good for us all.”

“Sure.”

When Nanu actually made it back to the fire, his chair had long been claimed-- Alena had bribed or manhandled Notch out of the seat long enough to sit down, and now the big meowth was sitting on her lap and trying to steal off of her plate.

He found himself a seat on a couple stones instead, with a trailer to his back and a view of most of the campground. He was near Plumeria, who was eating too, and sharing the filling of her sushi with Fling.

Chip emerged from under the porch of the trailer and looked hopefully at him.

“Yeah, fine.” He offered down a slice of slow-roll, and Chip gleefully started to shred it apart to get at the grilled meat inside. “Berry?”

“Mrrrr-eep,” Chip trilled happily, and took the fried payapa too.

The shadows under the porch stirred, and moonlight glinted off another golden charm. “Waaaaa-oooh?”

“Tapus preserve, you too? All right.”  He gave a slice of the roll to Diva, and then popped two in his mouth so that he’d at least eat something before the rest of his food got stolen.

Toby and Molayne had made him a big plate, at least, whether because they’d seen his little entourage of empty bellies or because Hibiscus wanted him fed he didn’t know.

“Notch going to be joining us?”

The two meowth at his feet exchanged looks and then flicked their ears in the equivalent of a shrug: what, why did he expect them to know?

“I’m not saving it any.”

Another round of ear flicks. That was fine with them, especially if it meant they only had to split the food two ways.

He ate slowly-- made himself eat slowly, the food was good. He listened to half-words and the tones of conversations he was too far away to hear, and made sure the meowth got their fill of food too.

He was almost done when Diva dropped half a payapa slice and went still, crouching down on all fours and staring into the weeds at the edge of the oasis pond. Its tail started to lash back and forth.

“No,” Nanu said immediately, going off instinct. He didn’t know what he’d seen, but he’d seen something that a meowth shouldn’t eat.

The shrub rustled, and a little dark face popped out, big front teeth bared.

Diva started to growl, tail twitching faster.

“ _No._ ”

He leaned down and grabbed the meowth by the scruff just as it started to jump; the forward momentum left it swinging in his grip.

“No nature-red-in-tooth-and-claw in front of the kid, all right?” He cocked his head at Plumeria. “You’re not starving. And I don’t want to carry your dumb rear end to the PMC if you catch a hyper fang in the face.”

“Mooooowww,” Diva whined, giving a limp little swipe in the rattata’s direction.

Chip looked at Diva, at the bristling rattata, at him, and chose to avoid further drama; it slunk over to rub obsequiously against his ankles, casting a haughty look at the dangling meowth as if to say it would _never_.

“Nobody likes a suckup,” Nanu said, giving it some more sushi.

He settled Diva in his lap, gave it a fresh slice of berry, and lifted a brow. “Going to be civilized?”

“Waah,” it said sullenly, nibbling reluctantly on its berry.

He smoothed down the fur on the back of its neck where he’d grabbed it, and before it was finished with the payapa it had forgotten it was upset with him, purring like an engine and chattering to him around mouthfuls of food about-- chasing a flying type? He was pretty sure that was the gist, if he wasn’t getting any details. Give him a month and he’d understand them well enough to get spy reports. … which would probably be about all the flying types they thought were up to no good.

Ridiculous little beasts.

The rattata took advantage of the distracted meowth, dashing out to grab the food that Diva had dropped. He recognized it-- B1, alias Bean, the one that lived behind the motel. It looked unconcerned, for all that bristle and bluster before. It might even have distracted the meowth from dinner on purpose, knowing he wasn’t going to allow any mayhem.

“You little con artist.” He smirked. “Go soak Toby for the food, he's feeling generous.”

“Ta!” It scampered away.

He watched it go, let his attention drift over people and pokémon going about their business while he finished his own dinner. He’d managed to eat at least most of the plate-- only a quarter of it had disappeared into the meowth’s bellies. When the food was done he kept himself busy petting Diva for a while-- it curled up in his lap and dropped promptly into a post-dinner nap.

The dark types all had him pegged as a damn soft touch. He sighed and kept petting; Diva’s side rose and fell under his hand, slow and rumbling, and he felt the food starting to work on him, too.

He didn’t want to sleep again, not yet. He’d been doing nothing but sleeping. Even if he was having a respite from the worst of his nightmares, he needed to move, needed to be on his feet before the blood congealed in him and he set roots right into the bed.

Diva protested dramatically when he scooped it off his lap, but almost immediately curled up by the fire and dropped off again. Chip padded over to join it, folding bonelessly against its side.

He flicked a look around-- Fling was curled up with Plumeria, good, Alena had taken off her skull headband and was dangling it for Notch to play with, Toby and Molayne were still cooking and not looking for him, Hibiscus didn’t have eyes on him. He’d just get out for a bit-- head over to the beach all the way on the other side of the PMC, the big lagoon before you hit the old mansion and the road up to the meadow. Really stretch his legs. It’d be good for him.

Like Toby had said, he had a lot to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR, WE AREN'T DEAD [we just got wrapped up in (b) work and (s) Ultramoon.] 
> 
> This chapter was a bit of a bear because of all the talking and the info-dumping. Hopefully the pace will pick up after this. Thanks to everyone for reading!


	13. Sand Trap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yo dawg, I heard you liked ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning-- a pokémon dies offscreen this chapter, there's reference to predator-prey stuff

As Nanu walked away from the fire, the light rose up in front of him almost as quickly as it fell off behind him, the PMC beaming comforting red and white into the night for lost kids and weary hikers. He gave it a wide berth— wide as he could, without veering too near the stinking beach and the remains of Route 14 and the old Megamart.

Past the PMC, the dirt road took a sharp turn around one of Lanakila's foothills. He put the light behind him, the slope of the land tuning the beacon into a glow, gentle and blending into the night. He started to blink, preparing his night vision for the quiet, dark loop around to the next beach-- but the darkness was broken with another beaming light.

Wrong. He frowned, knowing that was wasn’t right with all the certainty of his childhood brain.

But it was. Things changed.

The old mansion house was lit up almost as bright as the Pokémon Center, gleaming against the foothills, reflecting light off the stone behind it. It'd been scrubbed up and whitewashed so bright it was almost unrecognizable. The Aether logo was prominent over the front door.

It was for the better that someone was using the place, he told himself. It'd passed hand to hand-- the royals had sold it off a few generations ago because they didn't need it, it'd been between owners and tended by a surly groundskeeper when he was a kid, and now at least it had occupants. A royal, even, Molayne had told him that the little princess lived there now. Full circle.

He didn't like it. He smirked at himself. Look at him getting upset at change just for it being change; being home again sure was bringing out the surly kid in him.

He gave the Aether house a wide berth, too. He'd be in there soon enough; he'd be rendezvousing with Jane there day after tomorrow, for their open house. For now, he clung to all the shadows he could get, heading down the slope toward the lagoon.

The water was green in the moonlight, and clear enough to see shadows on the sandy floor of the lagoon if not the water-types that were casting them. There were lights under the water, too-- feeding lumineon. A bigger shadow, a bigger shape out near the barrier rocks; a sharpedo's fin sliced the calm water as it went browsing for a meal. Smaller shadows scattered around it-- and then it veered too close to a particular patch of rocks and little glimmering bodies flowed out like smoke, roiling together in one big vortex of trouble until the sharpedo thought better of it and cruised away. Wishiwashi was off the menu tonight.

The beach was empty, except for him. That was just fine. Gentle surf and the rustling of tree fronds and the long grass, white-noise like the traffic in Virbank had been just a week ago, and the sky so dark he could see the swirls of blue in the black. No light pollution here. The sand was cleaner than he expected-- that was him thinking like an outsider again, though, he'd gotten used to the way Unovans treated their coasts. They got careless; they had an entire continent buffering them on one side and it made them cocky about the ocean.

The only sign of human life was the remains of a campfire in the cove nearby, and it must have been tourists, and they must have left litter, because the cove was absolutely alive with little white bodies and the soft click-click of wimpod jostling together as they ate anything and everything that was left behind with disgusting enthusiasm. Dirty little beasts. He'd missed them. Nowhere else had water-bugs, not really. Well, you did get surskit in other regions, but those lost their water typing as soon as they evolved and flitted away to do something more dignified than scavenging.

One of the wimpod broke away from the group, skittering across the sand toward a patch of seaweed and dirty feathers-- now that Nanu looked, a lot of feathers, and a sad dark shape. A wingull had run afoul of something. It happened. Surprising that the whole gang of bugs wasn't on it already, but--

The wimpod gave a terrible grating squeal and tried to bolt as the sand opened under it, but it went sliding down into a deep, sucking maw. Its compatriots scattered.

Nanu froze.

But this was the wrong beach-- the wrong entire side of the island for--

The sand was writhing under him and it was too big.

"Shit," he said, and then he was sinking too.

It must have taken the wingull off guard, too, it hadn’t been expecting this particular hazard on this particular beach anymore than he had. It’d proved fatal for the flying type and the wimpod that came after, and if he didn’t do something--

His legs were numb already-- numb and cold and heavier than an iron ball under him, his ankles and knees sending out shocks of pain between seconds of dull ache. The realization came up like bile in his throat. The sand wasn't going to let him go. It was going suck him dry and use his bones to lure more prey.

And that was wrong. ‘Ghasts and palossand left humans alone or used them but they didn't eat them-- let them go after a few hours or a day to spread the fear of an unattended sandcastle and shovel, because to do anything else was just bad for continued survival, got them chased off the beaches. The sand was moaning, though, horrible and hungry.

The ghost wasn't thinking straight, wasn't thinking at all, was acting on hunger and impulse and he'd figure out why later but he was already in it to his knees and sinking faster.

_All right, Triples. You have actually been trained in this. Focus._

Hard to. There was something needy and uncontrolled in the way the sand was sucking at him. There was this feeling, this pins and needles he'd felt somewhere before, making his skin crawl and his mind run away with him.

 _Come on, Triples, imagine the eulogy they'll have to give you if you die this way. Idiot ex-cop falls to pokémon attack. 'I don't know,' Interpol Chief quoted as saying. 'We thought we taught him better than this, we're disappointed too.'_ There was a sparkle of something too close to hysteria at the back of his mind. Focus.

Ground and ghost. Ground and ghost. Not much a human could do against ghost. Not much better luck with ground. There was the nearby water, but even if he could get to it, even odds that the thing eating him had sand compaction and wouldn't budge. You could weaken a palossand, though, by stripping the sand off it faster than it could draw it back--

_So dig, idiot!_

His hands went numb almost as soon as he touched the sand, but he swung his arm like a shovel and sent a bit flying.

The palossand made a sobbing, gulping sound around him as he carved it apart.

"I'd be sorrier if you weren't trying to _eat me_!" another strike, thrashing at the sand with numb hands, keeping his arms stiff to shove at all the sand he touched. Another. His hand bounced off of something-- a shell, the body of the wimpod that had been taken first.

No, not just a body, the legs were moving weakly-- he levered his hand under it, watched a gash open up as its sharp shell cut through the meat of his hand, but didn't feel it happen, and chucked the little pokémon as far as he could. It landed out of the radius of danger, antennae twitching weakly.

He'd just call that casualty limitation. Hah. The bug pulled itself to his feet as he started to dig again, doing a drunken little stagger as its legs refused to work together.

Then it turned around and started to crawl back.

"Oh, what the hell," Nanu gasped.

Grains of sand were flowing towards him, back toward the center of the palossand; the wimpod hunkered down against one of the little streams and gave a weak kick. It kicked some of the grains away, a Sand Attack on thin air.

The dumb little thing was trying to help him, it must have gotten his brains knocked around. They usually knew when to run away.

“Fuck off before it eats you!” he bellowed. It gave him a defiant waggle and kicked again.

A little shape scuttled out from under a rock; another from a hole in the cliff face. Three wimpod now. Then five. Then ten, then a little wave of chitinous bodies surrounding their weakened friend, fast little legs working furiously, siphoning the ghost pokémon's sandy body away grain by grain.

It was insane, but Nanu was actually starting to gain ground.

He was numb up to the waist, now, and it was getting harder to force his arms to move; he had to throw them like dead weight, all the strength from his back muscles. But he could almost see his knees, could force his legs to stumble together-- and he was wading away from the center of the ghost’s mass, toward relative safety.

The sand moaned miserably, unmistakably in pain now, and humped itself up with an effort, trying to swamp him.

The little alarms at the back of his head hadn't ever stopped shouting that something was wrong with the whole thing, but the terrible lopsided parody of a sandcastle put a cherry on it all-- the ghost could barely take shape, sliding and melting like casteliacone in the sun. It hurled its mass at him recklessly, panic making it stronger.

It poured itself back into the dent he'd managed to make in it, sending his unlikely allies scattering again and chittering in alarm-- they'd already been much braver than you could expect wimpod to be, he didn't blame them for saving their own hides. The one he'd saved hovered a second longer just at the edge of danger, before whining and making a limping dash for safety.

The palossand gave up on any form; it was just a groaning dune, blotting out the moonlight over him as it grew.

"I hope you choke on me," Nanu told the looming wave of sand, and shut his eyes.

Something howled in the dark, and then again, much closer already, and Nanu opened his eyes in time to see a sleek white figure interpose itself between the palossand and his body. It reared up as the palossand crashed down, and black energy crackled on the tips of three-clawed paws and a curving horn as the palossand's form shredded apart and came down in a rain of harmless sand.

He could feel his legs again-- cold, but not ghostly-touch-numb. The suction on them was easing up.

"Watch--" he coughed, through a mouth full of sand. The absol whirled as a shuddering wave of sand reared up, and shot out a claw, cutting through the sand before it had a chance to attack, splattering it across the beach. It growled softly under its throat, and waited, daring another attempt.

There wasn't one.

The drain on his energy subsided and then was gone, as quick as it had come-- the blood rushed to his head, and he collapsed forward in sand that was no longer freezing with ghostly hunger, but still prickled uncomfortably.

"Than-" he spat sand, coughed once and then couldn't stop coughing. His mouth was dry. He'd been attacked by ghost types before, they withered you when they fed, and this one had been made of powdery sand. Too dry, too shapeless, too weak-- too delirious enough to attack a human.

The absol grunted and butted him in the back, forcing the air out of his lungs in a rush-- the sand in his throat went with it, felt like it was tearing bloody strips on the way out. He could taste iron. But he’d stopped coughing, at least.

"Thanks," he wheezed.

"Absol." It tipped his chin up with its horn and searched his face, peering into his eyes one at a time. "Sol."

"I'm not-- concussed?" Was that what it was checking for? How would it know? Hell, was he sure he wasn’t?

It seemed satisfied, anyway. It sniffed at the cut on his hand-- he could see the dark blood smeared across it now, the gash coated with sand-- gave him another once-over, and then pushed its head against his shoulder. It braced itself in the sand, pushing slowly, and he got it-- he let it push him up, gratefully used the leverage to get to his feet, unsteady but vertical again.

"...my sandals," he realized; sensation had made it back down to his feet and he could feel sand slipping between his toes. The thong sandals were long gone, pulled off his feet and swallowed. "I'll have to tell Hibiscus."

He winced at that, looked down at his rescuer. "Might actually have preferred getting eaten."

It huffed softly, shook sand out of its fur. That might have been a laugh, even. Maybe it knew Hibiscus, at least by reputation.

"Not... really. Thank you."

It nodded firmly.

"We keep running into each other. You keeping an eye on me or something? Or you just always head towards trouble?”

It tipped its head; not a clear answer there. Maybe a little of both. The pokémon starting to creep back onto the beach kept a respectful distance from it-- it was like they all knew it and what it was about.

"I get the feeling I'm supposed to understand something, and I don't. It's starting to worry me."

It tipped its head in the opposite direction, mask-like face almost frowning. Or that could be a trick of the light and disorientation, who knew. Might be reading too much into this.

He could hear a throbbing sound-- thought it was his heart, and it was, but something under that. Hooves pounding toward the beach, on the path up the bluff-- big heavy thuds on the dirt, the snort of a mudsdale, and a flashlight beam strafed across the both of them as Ramsay slid off his mudsdale’s back and came jogging down onto the sand.

"Nanu! Did something happen? The meowth were having a-- Bulu's shit, is that an absol?"

The absol whirled out of the light, going from a dead standstill to a vanishing blur in the time it took for Ramsay to stop swearing. Nanu tracked its flight as far as the rock wall and then it was lost in the shadows and the flashlight was back in his face. He cringed.

"Good to see you," he rasped dryly. "Or at least your flashlight."

Ramsay dropped the beam to illuminate his bare feet instead. Now he could make out the other man and his pokémon, trotting up slowly. There were smaller shadows around his mudsdale's hooves, and a little black body perched on Ramsay's shoulder, whiskers twitching over his collar.

"What brings you out?" he asked, straight faced.

"What brings me out, he says, covered in sand and paler than death." Ramsay grabbed his chin, peering into his face much the way the absol had, and taking the pulse in his neck with calloused fingers. "You're freezing, your heart’s going like a Tauros. What happened?"

Nanu looked behind him at the heap of sand on the beach, taking a few uneasy steps away from where he thought it ended.

"Palossand."

"That's impossible."

"Yeah. Wrong beach."

"Wrong beach? Nanu, we haven't seen a ghost pokémon around here in months." Ramsay was staring at him as if he was stupid.

Which he was. He was a damn idiot, so busy walking into its stupid mouth that he'd forgotten--

"No wonder this one was so panicked," Ramsay said, raising a hand to the rattata clinging to his collar. Bean's fur was only just starting to subside from a bristle. "It came bolting into camp and raising hell, had the meowth chasing circles around the fire until Toby rescued it. Whatever it was saying got the meowth agitated, and Toby said it knew you, and we couldn't find you, and I assumed--"

"--that I'd gotten myself into trouble again?" Nanu sighed. "Good call." Apparently. What a walking liability he’d been the last few days.  

A meowth-- Fling-- darted past their legs and into the disturbed sand. Nanu turned so fast he almost fell. "Careful!" he barked, already reaching out to pull the little pokémon away from danger.

The meowth sniffed the sand and then growled, almost doubling in size as its hackles raised and its tail fluffed out. It spat, face wrinkled up in feline fury.

"Get away from that, if it wakes up--"

Fling kicked the sand as it turned sharply, shooting back toward him, bounding onto his outstretched arm and climbing to his shoulder. He could feel its claws tearing little holes in his shirt and skin, piercing the lingering numbness in his skin.

It stared at him at point blank range, usually-sleepy eyes wide with alarm. Nanu stared back.

"...you okay?"

Fling hissed at him, and then butted him hard in the chin with its charm, burying its face in the crook of his neck. He could feel it trembling against him.

"You-- are you worried? Were you worried?"

It reached up to swat him on the face, claws tucked in but impact still sharp enough to sting.

"I'm sorry." He reached up for it, coaxing it down into his arms. It dug its claws into his shirt, and the skin under it. "I'm all right. Look, I'm all right."

"You had us all pretty worried," Ramsay said, bewildered. "And a palossand, after all this time? Here? It attacked you?"

"Yeah. I think it's Confused. Capital C. Or sick. Maybe both. We need to get it to the PMC."

"What about _you?_ "

He really had worried the cop, he realized. Ramsay had that same look on his face, belated horror at Nanu's close call, that he'd seen in Fling's eyes, in Bean's frazzled fur.

They would have cared if he'd never made it back to camp. That was a responsibility he didn’t know what to do with.

"Just-- tired. Cold. It'll be all right after I eat something. You can walk off a ghost attack, as long as they don't finish you off. It's not my first time to this battle stadium. Got some stories from Kanto...."

That didn't make Ramsay feel any better, apparently; his eyes just went wider, his dark skin a shade paler.

"I'm fine," Nanu said, hoping that was more comforting. It was getting to be his go-to lie, and he kept having to use it in less and less fine situations. That was a habit that needed breaking.

He was hungry again. The nourishment he'd gotten from dinner had been sucked out of him-- he tried not to think how it could have gone if he'd come out here sleepwalking like he usually did, half-starved like he'd been letting himself get.  He wouldn't have held out long enough to be rescued.

“Sure you are,” Ramsay said, sounding like he knew exactly what Nanu was leaving unsaid. “I’m going to take a quick look around, all right?.”

“All yours, officer.”  He wasn’t going anywhere.

Ramsay and Mudsdale made a slow circle of the beach, keeping a safe distance from the disturbed patch of sand. Ramsay paused and had a brief conversation with Mudsdale, then the ground-type kept going, sweeping the perimeter, long nose low to the ground, turning its head to view every angle with both eyes.  

Ramsay detoured to the little bluff above the beach, holding out an arm so that Bean could scamper off his neck and into the shrubs; as he turned away his flashlight lit up dozens of pairs of eyes, dark bodies in various sizes. This must be Bean’s colony, when it wasn’t living under the washing machine.

Nanu had been damn lucky its territory was so nearby. He owed it, now, and the little scavengers that had tried to help him instead of just waiting until they could eat what was left of him.

Ramsay ran his flashlight over the fading tracks of the scuffle, the central hump of the palossand’s body. He risked going into the radius of the struggle as far as the body of the wingull, examining the remains intently, and then picked his way delicately back.

“Nanu, you want to take a look?”

Instead of answering, Nanu just made his way over, Fling still held against his chest. Ramsay swept his flashlight slowly across the sand, and they all watched the beam.

“You see that too?”

“Black sand.”

A few grains, here and there, peppered and swirled through it. And something else he couldn’t make out, visible only as an irregular glint, caught in the light and gone in a flash.  

“It’s not holding together.”

The mudsdale finished its circle and clumped back slowly to stand at Ramsay’s shoulder.

“You make anything of it?” Ramsay asked.

It leaned in and huffed at the sand. The grains scattered under its breath like dry sand should-- like the body of a ghost shouldn’t.

Mudsdale sniffed the disturbed beach lightly and then jerked its head up, taking a few dancing steps back. Its ears flattened back into its thick mane.

“Muds?” Ramsay said, alert. “Is there a situation?”

It shook its head-- more deliberately, obviously a response to the question and not a nervous gesture, but it didn’t settle, even when Ramsay thumped its shoulder and stroked its tense neck.

Fling stirred in Nanu’s arms, lifting its head to growl an observation at the other pokémon, and the mudsdale stamped and made a low sound of agreement.

The humans gave each other uneasy looks.

“I’m going to have to come back here and do a full report, it looks like. But I guess our first objective is getting this thing to the Pokémon Center. Going to have to keep it there until we know it’s safe to release, too.  Aether finds out we’re holding it in captivity, they’ll have a fit, ugh.”

“Then Aether can let it eat them, instead,” Nanu said darkly. “...I don’t think it knew what it was doing, though. It wasn’t in control.” That nagged around his brain. Little sharp glitters in the sand, the pound of his pulse-- it was still up, hadn’t slowed down, he could feel it. His mind was tripping around on it too. He felt like he’d chased off sleep with one too many coffees, had that sour empty feeling in his stomach. He should be exhausted and it wasn’t catching up to him.

“...I don’t want them to know about this. There’s something, what are you doing on Monday? Shit, you’ve got that hot date. I’m meeting a--” he stopped himself before he blew Jane’s cover, but his mind stalled and failed to provide a lie. “Aether shouldn’t know, yet, and if they’re as involved with the police as everyone’s told me--”

“You’re asking me not to write this up?”

“No.” His skin was all pins and needles; none of his limbs were asleep anymore but the tingling wasn’t going away. “You can. Soon. I know somebody. She’ll be able to make sense of this. If Aether needs to know she’ll let them know. Just-- just stall on the report a few days, all right? Give this thing some time cooling off in a PMC recovery room, it’ll probably need a few days to recuperate anyway.”

Ramsay was staring at him, eyes boring into his face. “What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything,” Nanu snapped, turning his head away from that sharp gaze, looked up instead at the swaying fronds of a distant berry tree. It wasn’t helping him think. His hand throbbed. “But I know something’s off, I need to find out what, Ramsay, do you trust me?”

He regretted it as soon as he said it. It was a hell of a thing to ask. Nanu wasn’t even Interpol anymore, he was-- nothing, he was nobody, of course Ramsay didn’t--

“Yeah,” Ramsay said.

“Okay. Jane’ll be able to explain. She’s, uh, she’s with Aether, so you know she’s above board.” Maybe she could string together a coherent lie. Maybe he could, too, after he’d had something to eat and shaken this off.

"Sounds good,” Ramsay said. He was forcing himself to pretend this was normal; most people didn’t have a decent sense of subterfuge. Nanu could hear the struggle in him.

“That was an absol with you, wasn't it? I wasn't seeing things?" Ramsay changed the topic.

The policeman’s voice was too forced to be normal, too unsubtle. But he was trying. For Nanu. Poor idiot. If Nanu was wrong about this, the other man stood to lose his job, or more, and it wasn’t like Nanu could do anything to protect him.

His skin crawled.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was an absol. It knocked out our friend there."

"We don't get absol around here, either," Ramsay said, uneasily, glancing back at the sandy heap. "People used to chase them off, thought they were bad luck. They don't come down from the mountain now, haven’t for decades."

"Yeah, I remember. This one, I don’t know. this isn't the first time I've run into it. I think it might live out in the ruins, that's pretty away-from-people. It seems to keep an eye on things.”

"Hnn." Ramsay frowned to himself. "Think there used to be a rumor about that. Some old story. I should ask Toby. Maybe Ohai, something might have come up in his research. It's not important. ...come on, let's figure out how to get a big pile of sand to the PMC without a pokeball."

"Well. At least we know there’s a shovel around here somewhere.”

"Don't even joke about that."

They realized quickly just how much of a problem it was going to be; the sand that should have held together with ectoplasm and energy drooled away sluggishly between their fingers.

"It was barely keeping in one piece while it was active," Nanu said. "I think it's worse off than me."

"Maybe we shouldn't move it," Ramsay said. "If we break it up too much it'll never recover. This could kill it."

"We can't leave it here," Nanu said quietly. "It's already killed at least one other pokémon, made a good run at another. And it's definitely not in its own territory here. It's an intruder on this beach, the whole food chain knows it."

"You don't think--"

"I think if the wingull wake up in time to see it laid out, it's getting torn apart. Hell, it might not make it til morning in the first place; it barely had the energy to fend off a bunch of wimpod. Imagine if big brother or big sister shows up to settle the score? It wouldn't survive a First Impression, type advantage or not." Or hell, most golisopod knew at least one dark-type move. The absol had pulled that last Sucker Punch, he was almost sure. A golisopod wouldn't pull anything; they survived by hitting hardest first.

"You're right," Ramsay said. "...I hate this kind of thing. Usually folks get along. There's enough for all of us. But sometimes--"

 _I hate this,_ Esperanza mourned in his head, and Nanu shuddered convulsively, trying to throw off the memory. Everything was too close to the surface and a little too clear.

"We'll get it some medical help. Maybe get a hint what's happened to the other ghosts," he said, forcing himself into cold practicality. He sucked in a deep breath of salt air, trying to settle his heart rate. Still too fast, still too jittery. "If it's safe, the nurse can try to figure out where it came from and put it back where it belongs. That's the best you can do. You can't protect everything."

"Yeah." Ramsay's eyes lidded, and Nanu knew he was saying the wrong thing-- knew it, couldn't stop it, couldn't break through the Wide Guard that'd come down between him and the leftover taste of panic and the swirling nagging questions about why the ghosts were gone and where this one was from and the stone--

"Shirt," he said, his voice even sounding distant.

"What?"

"Your uniform shirt. We can carry it in that."

"...smart," Ramsay said.

Ramsay's black shirt was a tent; with the short sleeves tied, it was big enough to scoop under the main body of the palossand-- such as it was. It was losing cohesion as they worked, sand slipping over sand with a sound a little bit too much like laboured breathing for comfort. Fling was a constant shadow, pressed close to Nanu's leg, watching them work with its eyes narrowed and fixed on the ghost, looking for a sign of movement. Mudsdale was snacking on the sand, but one dark eye was fixed on them, too.

Nanu didn't think he wanted to try to count the observers at the edge of their vision, in the shadows. There were still squeaks from the shrubbery; Bean was still on guard, his colony too. Nanu could see the occasional twitch of a pair of antennae behind one rock or under another. The trees were rustling with more than wind and out in the water, and out on the rocks the moonlight lit up dull eyes where even the napping slowpokes had caught on that something had happened.

Ramsay froze in front of him, scooting back on his knees away from the red plastic shovel he had unearthed.

"Found the lure."

"Don't touch it," Nanu said, unnecessarily.

Ramsay used the handle of his flashlight to scoop the innocent-looking toy onto the shirt. The shovel twitched as the palossand pulled tighter together, but it was only a reflex-- the sand stopped moving and sagged into a heap again, a few more grains losing their grip on the whole and skittering down. Fling growled softly under its breath, claws flexing out and not retracting.

"That's as much as we can carry," Ramsay said uneasily.

"It'll have to be enough," Nanu said. "Lift on three?"

"One. Two--"

He was still weak, weaker than he'd realized; his whole body protested when he lifted his end of the shirt, his back threatening to seize-- had to keep it even, couldn't let the ghost pokémon fall because his arms gave out.

"Hold it there for a second," Ramsay grunted. "Got an idea."

Nanu locked his fingers around the cloth and tried to pretend he didn't feel the muscles in his arms shaking. Ramsay clicked his mudsdale over, making a fast knot of his two corners and tying it off to the saddle. Mudsdale stamped, tossing its head away from the weight, but it stood fast.

"Thanks, partner," Ramsay murmured, thumping it on the shoulder. "Won't let it cause any trouble."

Mudsdale whickered unhappily, but it turned slightly to expose the other side of the saddle strap.

Nanu lifted the edges of the cloth to it, but that was as much as he could do; if he tried to do anything else he'd just drop it. Ramsay didn't ask, just took the weight from him with steadier hands and tied it; now their burden was securely slung against Mudsdale's chest.

"Just till we get to the Pokémon Center," Ramsay reassured it, stroking its nose. "And I'll get you some of those candied rindos I'm not supposed to let you have."

It wuffled against his shoulder, still uneasy and shifting its weight. Ramsay led it up the shadowy path and away from the beach, much slower, steadying the makeshift sling. Nanu followed-- got two steps before something hit him in the back and then Fling was scrabbling up to his shoulder again, leaving another trail of little puncture wounds up his back in the process.

"Ma-arr," it scolded angrily, slapping his neck with its tail.

"Okay, okay, I'm not leaving you behind," he said. "You want carried again?"

"Yaw." Said witheringly. Of course it did and he was a fool for asking, its curled lip told him.

It wrapped its tail around his neck again. He could feel the warmth of the meowth through the chill in him; the little points of pain in his back were more tangible than the unease blanketing him like a fog.

He started to shiver-- stupidly, uselessly, the danger was long over, there was no point now, but his heart wouldn’t stop racing and his breath was starting to speed up to match. Fling plastered himself against the side of his face, tail a little tighter around his neck, and took a deep breath, and then another.

It had to hit him on the nose before he realized what it wanted-- he forced in a longer breath, let it out in tandem with the inhale and exhale he could feel against his cheek. He was rewarded with a gentle pat on the head.

"Well trained," he sneered at himself.

Fling trilled softly at him, and took another theatrically deep breath. Obediently, he followed suit. Well trained indeed.

Ramsay had gotten ahead while he dithered around being useless; he lengthened his stride as much as he could without disturbing Fling's perch and caught up with the policeman on the other side of the foothill, with the welcoming glow of the PMC just coming into view. Ramsay looked back at him and gave him a relieved little smile, and Nanu was able to give him a grimace back.

"Thought you might have passed out somewhere back there."

"Just taking it easy on myself."

Ramsay turned back away, but Nanu could still hear him mutter "That'd be a first."

"Stay out here with Mudsdale, I'll go in and get help," he said, pushing past the policeman a little abruptly.

"Try not to piss off the staff this time," Ramsay said helpfully.

"Noted," he said, shoving in through the door before the porch light could blind him.

It was dimmer inside, but still too bright for comfort. Empty, in the waiting room and the closed cafe,. He didn't see the nurse at first, until he took a few steps and saw her leaned back in a desk chair and napping.  Or so he assumed, she had a newspaper over her face, which muffled but didn’t completely block her soft snoring.

The newspaper vanished a second after he cleared his throat; she was on her feet and the offending paper was behind her back in excellent time.

She gave him a warm, professional smile-- he filed away little details out of tired habit (slightly sunburned, not local, older than Ahina in Malie and less easy to rattle, no exposed roots because that soft pink hair was natural, and that and that jawline meant she was in the sprawling Joy clan or no more than a generation out. Bags under her eyes, scratches up her arm, sesame seed in her teeth, plastic takeout fork and a crumpled napkin still lurking next to her computer-- she’d eaten at her desk and been pulled away by an emergency that’d kept her on her feet until she could get back to the desk and collapse).

"Sorry about that. It's been a long night already," she said, still smiling as he blinked at her and tried to find his way out of his own head. It was an understatement, by the look of things. The last thing she needed was the trouble he’d brought with him.

"Got an injured pokémon," he said, awkwardly. "No, outside," he added, when she looked at his empty belt in confusion.

"It's not in a ball?"

"Wild."

"Big?"

"Not as big as it should be. Palossand. Not much left of it."

Her eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"It's a ghost made of sand and it tried to eat a wimpod,” he said curtly. “And then me. I'm pretty sure it's a palossand."

The nurse straightened up, calling toward the back. "Blissey, get a stretcher! And a plastic sheet!"

A door in the back opened, a pink head poking out. "Blissey. Bliss-?"

There was a loud crash in the room behind it; the normal-type's sweet face went stoney.

"Is she awake again? Arceus bring peace. Just-- no, let her keep it, she'll just scream if you don't, we have a patient out here." The nurse shot him a harried look. "Busy night,” she repeated.

"I see," he said awkwardly.

"Out of the way, please," she said, as the blissey came barreling out with a sheet-draped stretcher, almost running over his foot before he lurched out of the way.

He had to catch Fling's paw as it took an angry swipe at the normal type’s curls. "No, they're just doing their job. I can hold my own against rogue stretchers."

Fling made an unhappy sound. It disagreed. It doubted his ability to hold his own against anything.

That was fair enough.

The doors had barely banged shut behind the two before they were opening again--the blissey had been undaunted by the weight of their patient, unlike the two human men who'd almost thrown out their backs just lifting it. The nurse was holding the plastic sheeting up in a sling to contain the amorphous ghost, the blissey maneuvering the stretcher around the obstacles in the waiting room like a stunt driver, and they disappeared into one of the operating rooms.

Ramsay caught the outer door as it rebounded, stepping inside with a sigh. He was sweating. Because the night was warm, Nanu realized.

Nanu probably shouldn't still be this cold, he realized.

"Didn't I tell you not to piss them off?"

"They were having a bad night before I got there," Nanu retorted. "I think they've got a bigger--"

A smaller crash, and rasping sound. The nurse stuck her head out from the operating room, eyes wide. "I need your help."

"What's wrong?" Ramsay asked, managing to convey reassuring authority even in his sweat-stained white undershirt.

"You need to stop her from trying to swallow it,” the nurse said firmly, loud enough to be heard over the noise. “You have to go clear her throat."

"What?" Ramsay asked, Nanu mouthing an echo.

"Don't let her eat it. But don't take it away-!"

Blissey shouted for her and she was gone; the door to the OR swung shut behind her.

"What?" Ramsay said.

"I don't know," Nanu said. "But apparently she screams if you take it away." Whoever 'she' was. Whatever it was.

The grinding, retching sound was getting quieter and weaker, and Nanu was already moving-- he knew the sound of someone choking. So did Ramsay, a step behind him because he hadn't seen which door the mystery patient was behind and Nanu had.

They piled into what turned out to be a little examination room in complete shambles, the hanging lights in the ceiling swinging and throwing disjointed, moving shadows. There were clawmarks scored into the plaster walls, equipment lying on the floor-- a shredded nest of blanket on the examination table, kicked into disorder. Fling launched itself off of Nanu's shoulder, swatting a roll of paper towels out of the way and revealing a small body that was convulsing on the floor.

The patient was no bigger than Fling, could pass for a human infant in silhouette, but it had a gasping mouth lined with jagged teeth, and staring gemstone eyes. A Sableye. Choking on something-- he wouldn't have thought there was much they couldn't eat, but it-- she, the nurse had said-- was clawing weakly at its own throat.

"Flashlight," Nanu said, and then scrambled for words that would make sense. "Keep her mouth open with your flashlight."

Those teeth were made to grind down stone. The bones of his wrist would crack like eggshell.

"Should I--" Ramsay offered chivalrously.

"Smaller hands," Nanu answered grimly, holding one of them up to prove it. The gash on his palm throbbed with the movement.

"Gloves," Ramsay said, grimacing, and Fling pounced on a box out sticking out from under the examination table triumphantly.

"I told you it wasn't me giving them a hard time," Nanu said, as he sagged to his knees and fumbled on a glove as quickly as he could manage.

"I'm very proud of you," Ramsay huffed, trying to wedge himself in beside him, carefully propping open the sableye’s jaw, wedging the thick metal butt of his flashlight between the back teeth.

The sableye gagged as Nanu reached into her mouth, biting down reflexively-- her teeth screeched on the flashlight, leaving deep dents in it, but the metal held.

Nanu felt his glove catch on a tooth, and rip open from wrist to forearm.

"Son of a--" It’d have to do, he was still halfway hygienic.

Sweep the throat, all of his first-aid training had said. Easier done with a training dummy than with a weakly-squirming pokémon under you, mouth full of teeth, gullet soft and vulnerable , and he didn’t even know what damage he could do if he was too careless.

 _They eat rocks,_ he reminded himself forcefully, and probed deeper. He could feel a hard edge. Something solid and oblong, wedged lengthwise into the sableye's throat.

"Stop... moving... it's stuck, I'm sorry, this is going to hurt--"

The blockage yielded. It slid through his grip, slimy, and he gritted his teeth and teased it up with a finger, keeping it from sliding further down the pokémon’s esophagus. The little thing gagged again, making a miserable sound, and her teeth dug deeper into Ramsay's flashlight.

"Got it."

He pulled his hand free and the pokémon took a gasping breath, going limp and sliding off the flashlight-- with exhaustion, not unconsciousness, he saw with relief.

She reached a clawed hand out and whined.

"What was it?" Ramsay asked, sounding a relieved as Nanu felt.

"It's-- the Tapu wept."  Nanu lifted his prize into the light.

"That's a--"

"Yeah."

A black, oblong crystal, polished and faceted with intent, so dark it was almost opaque. Shit. You didn’t find those just lying around.

"Where did she get that-?"

The sableye whined again, and reached for it.

"I don't think we should let her have it," Ramsay cautioned immediately.

The whine was quickly rising in pitch and volume, as the sableye started trying to claw its way out from under Ramsay’s restraining hand toward its prize. Damn.

"If I give you this thing and you put it back in your mouth, I'm throwing it down Wela," Nanu hissed, holding the crystal in front of her threateningly.

"Miiyaw," Fling agreed.

The sableye stopped screaming and gave him... as charming a look as a sableye could, mouth shut and hands out.

"All right? Don't." Nanu placed the stone back in her hands.

She immediately thrust it towards her mouth again, only to find two hands and a paw in the way.

"Told you," Ramsay said.

"You preferred the screaming?"

"Not particularly. STOP that," Ramsay said, as the sableye snapped threateningly at his palm.

Nanu put both hands around the sableye's claws, trapping them with the crystal between them. They all watched for a second, relaxing a little when she didn't try to bite him or start the screaming up again.

"You can't do that all night."

"Thank you for pointing that out."

"We could tape it to her hand."

"Do you have any tape?"

"No."  

"Mrraw?" Fling asked, looking up at him and patting its own neck. Ramsay got it first-- because Ramsay could see his neck, and he couldn't.

"That necklace of yours, maybe?"

He wasn't wearing a-- no, that damn necklace Jane had given him, he'd never taken it off. He'd left the beads and the heart scale in the desert, but the actual leather thong was still around his throat.

"Take over," he told Ramsay, leaving Sableye-holding-duty to the policeman while he fumbled the spring catch open.

The sableye was already recovering from its choking fit-- the howl it let out when Nanu wrestled the crystal away again was instantaneous and much, much louder this time.

"I'M GIVING IT BACK," Nanu shouted over the noise. "FLING, NO."

The meowth had a clawful of shredded blanket and had started to eye the sableye's open mouth menacingly. The sableye’s jaws snapped shut, and she hissed between her teeth at the threatened gag; Fling hissed back.

His fingers didn't want to cooperate; it took a few tries to get a loop in the leather band, and it kept slipping off the stone as he wrapped it front to back. He tied it off tight at the top; the Z-crystal was in a clumsy leather net, now, and the thong was shortened up enough that it wouldn't fit over the sableye's wide bottom jaw.

She thrashed when she saw it in his hand, scream reaching a pitch that rattled the cabinets on the wall-- her strength really was coming back fast-- but Fling showed its claws again and the thrashing calmed down to just an aggressive fidget. Nanu clasped the thong around her narrow neck.

It surprised her so much that she stopped howling. They all braced for the next shoe to drop.

"Ssa-ssseye?" the pokémon patted her new necklace, giving it a few sharp tugs, and reached back to feel the clasp. It seemed to be to her satisfaction. "Aaah!"

And just like that, the little gremlin was all sparkles and contentment, as if she hadn’t destroyed an exam room and shredded up Ramsay’s arm.

“Sah!”  She gave Nanu a beaming, razor-sharp smile, grabbing his arm for-- as it turned out, a weak hug. Fling pushed her away after a second of that, shoving its own body proprietorially under his hand. Sableye turned away agreeably to hug Ramsay’s arm, patting his scratches apologetically, and then she sat down and started playing gently with the makeshift pendant again, making gravelly little chuckling sounds.

“Well, that worked,” Ramsay said dryly.

“...Maybe she was afraid of losing it,” Nanu said. He felt exhausted, but still keyed up, little pops of something like static under his skin. “Didn’t like us taking it away, for sure.”

"That so," Ramsay said, exhausted. "You made that racket because you didn’t want to lose it, little trouble?"

Sableye hissed in cheerful agreement and then yawned. She got to her feet and clambered back up the examination table, burrowing into the shredded blankets and almost immediately starting to snore amidst the wreckage she had created.

"Lucky buggah," Ramsay sighed, leaning back against the wall. He ran a hand down his face. "I need to go check on Mudsdale. Go... figure out how to explain why I don’t have a shirt and somehow avoid writing a report.”

"Nn." That was Nanu’s fault. He should help come up with a cover story. But he was liking the floor. He might stay.

Ramsay inhaled sharply.

"Dark and ghost. Sableye’s a ghost type. Nanu, where did she come from? It can’t be a coincidence, two showing up on the same night."

"Eh?"

"We need to talk to Joy."

"You talk to her," he mumbled. "I'm retired."

"You're right. You know, you should really grab a nap in the dorms here. You look-- Nanu?"

He let himself droop sideways and lay out along the floor. The sterile tile was growing on him. Cold-- but everything was cold. Ramsay's voice was starting to bounce and echo off of the walls. His pulse was drowning it out, slamming against the inside of his ears, throbbing in his neck.

"Maa-ow?" Fling demanded. Sounded far away, like it'd climbed up high. But he could feel the pads of its paw on his face, as it patted him softly and then more urgently. He’d closed his eyes. No wonder it was so nice and dark. “Maa-OW?”

"Nanu? Na-?"

They were too far away to hear.

* * *

_There were bodies writhing in the black sand, trying to squirm up through the stinking chains of half-rotten seaweed. Someone was sobbing, nearby and loud, howling with outrage and misery._

_Nanu shivered and tried to crawl away, finding no purchase on the squirming arms and legs and torsos that surrounded him, the slick muck around them, all of it tugging and sucking on him. It was so dark he thought for a minute he might already be buried.._

_Someone grabbed his leg, and he slid deeper into the pile._

_“I don’t want to die,” his attacker moaned, locking their arms around his waist, tugging him back down into the swarm, inches at a time, slick and stinking with something rotting. “I don’t want to die.”_

_“Where is the sky?” someone whispered beside him, curled up small and shivering. “Where is the sky?”_

_“Where am I?” howled the loudest voice, sending shudders through them all. “Where is this? Why is the sea poison? Where is home? Where am I?”_

_Miserable voices, whispering around him, under him, on top of him. Skeletal hands grasped his wrists and hung on tight._

_“My boy, where is my boy? Where is my ball? I don’t want to die.”_

_“Why is the sea poison? Where is the crystal reef?” wailed the loudest voice. It splintered into echoes._

_“I want to go home.”_

_“We’re sinking!”_

_“I don’t want to die.”_

_“I want to go home!”_

_“Where are we?”_

_“Where is home? Where am I?” Louder and louder, voices in chorus but not quite together._

_The seaweed crushed down around him, slimy and slithering and separating him from the rest of the bodies as he struggled weakly against it, and then he was thrashing free and sprawling on the floor of the Director’s office._

_He could breathe again. He hadn’t realise he couldn’t until he started to cough, throat full of the taste of rot. The Director was slumped in his chair, exhausted even in silhouette; the absol was watching him dubiously from the corner._

_The Director held out an unsteady hand, and a lumpy little shape rolled across the desk and plopped onto the sunlit floor near Nanu’s outstretched arm._

_“It is all I can give you,” the Director said, sounding unhappy about it._

_He’d gotten by with less support before. He twitched one shoulder in more-or-less a shrug._

_“You-- okay?” he panted._

_“No.”_

_He reached out, clumsy fingers patting down on something that squished-- a mostly-eaten pecha berry, gritty from the floor, bruised and uninviting._

_“Eat it.”_

_It wasn’t a request. He nodded weakly and jammed the thing into his mouth, biting against the pit, sucking the last sour flesh off the berry and trying not to gag on it._

_“You will live.”_

_“...maybe?”_

_“ **You will live.** ” That wasn’t a request either. He winced._

_“Sorry, boss.”_

_“I need you.”_

_He gave another weak nod, made an abortive attempt at a salute, hindered by his inability to haul himself off the floor. The pins and needles under his skin were starting to fade away, and he was almost warm in their absence._

_“I would give you more time,” the Director mourned. “There is none to give.”_

_How far along the timeline were they? He’d wasted a lot of man-hours fucking around, he knew that._

_“I’ll finish the mission,” he snarled, angry at himself. “I can do it.”_

_The Director let out a sigh that wafted through whole office, rustled the dying desk-plants and stirred the absol’s fur. Nanu could smell mist over the meadow just down the road from Po town; he smelled ornamental bushes in the constant rain, dune grass in the sun._

_“You must also survive it.”_

_It wasn’t a warning, it was a-- a mission parameter, a directive. A complication. It’d make everything harder. He was so damn tired._

_“You will live, for me.”_

_He nodded, accepted the new objective._

_“Yes, sir.”_


	14. Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plumeria babysits; Sableye tries to eat things she shouldn't; Fling lays down the law; Alena starts shit; Nanu learns something he wishes he hadn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mild panic attack (Nanu doesn't even realize he's having it, but he sure is). Nanu's general mental health issue. 'Realistic' pokemon battle with non-major injuries.

Shreds of dream were still clinging to him like fog when he came to-- light stabbing into his closed eyes, headache pounding behind them. He tried to remember, but -- also like fog-- the images dissipated. Plants? Stone. Director. Not Hanshaw, the dream director he'd never worked for. Nothing else, and even those details were melting away.

He raised an arm to block out the light and stopped, not just because his muscles felt like he'd been bench-pressing a boldore, but because of the pinch and tug of something taped to his skin, and the promise of a much harder pinch and tug under it if he kept moving.

Well. Hadn't woken up with an IV in him since that adventure in Orre. Shouldn't have collapsed like that-- ghost attacks didn't linger after the ghost was down for the count. Even a Curse broke when its caster was unconscious. If it'd been a haunter, now, something that could have poisoned him-- but it wasn't, and it hadn't felt like catching a Toxic either.

The hand of his un-taped arm was wrapped in a bandage-- he remembered why when he flexed it carefully and felt the skin pulling away from the cut there. Slight pressure on his lungs, had he taken a hit to the chest? He didn’t remember tha-- no, it was a real weight, not a muscular pain. It was warm and breathing.

All right, so really it was just the cut on his hand. Like he'd told Ramsay: any ghost attack you survived you could eventually walk away from. Eventually.

He finally, reluctantly cracked an eye. He was directly under fluorescents, on a stretcher, and he could only see a grey blur on his chest, but he hadn't actually needed the visual confirmation. "Hey, A1."

Fling's head jerked up, and then it was in his face, back feet on his collarbone and front paws on his cheeks, blessedly blocking the light.

"Ma-ow," it sighed, after a long visual inspection.

Nanu smiled, just a little. That hurt too. "That my name, or just your word for 'Dumbass'?"

"Yaw," it said, glaring down.

So, both. Ouch. "Didn't mean to spook you. I'm all right now."

It scoffed at him. Smart little beast. Finely tuned bullshit detection, it had.

He couldn't pet it without pulling the IV in his arm or irritating his cut, but he leaned his head up and bumped its forehead with his own, its charm cool against his skin. It sighed again and climbed off of his chest, snuggling on the pillow beside his cheek.

"Glad you're here, A1."

It purred softly, nuzzling closer.

His eyes were adjusting, more or less, though the headache wasn't fading; he could make out a few more things. Mostly that this wasn't a hospital room-- it was the back corner of one of the PMC's exam rooms. Not the one Sableye had wrecked, but it had the same recognizable accoutrements.

"Anyone out there?" he called.

The door cracked, and a pink face peered in. "Chansey?"

Must be the Blissey's day shift relief. Maybe the unfortunate nurse had gotten some sleep after all.

"Chansey!" it called back into the main room.

"Oh, thank goodness."

Or not. The Blissey had been relieved, but it was the same nurse-- a little more rumpled, a lot more tired-- who peered in. She took in the state of him with the envious look of someone who hadn't spent the last few hours passed out on a stretcher.

"How are you feeling?"

"Head hurts. Hand hurts. Not too bad otherwise."

"Ramsay said this has happened to you before," she said, disapproval dripping like morning dew off her voice.

"Line of work," he said, unapologetically, resolutely not grimacing as Fling pressed down with a hint of claw into his chest. "I've had worse and walked it off."

"Well, you're lucky you didn't go try to 'walk this off,'" she said. "If you didn't wake up in the next hour I was going to have you airlifted to Malie. I almost did last night-- you were in the middle of a tachycardiac episode when you lost consciousness."

"Which means?"

"Your heart was beating too fast. I thought I was going to have to resuscitate," she said, glaring.

"Doesn't feel like you had to," he said, frowning down at his chest. Well. At Fling on top of his chest. He couldn’t feel burns and his ribs were intact.

"...and you know how it feels because of your 'line of work,'" she said, distinctly unimpressed.

He shrugged.

Fling sighed and patted him on the head. Nurse and dark-type shared a moment of exasperation at him.

"I made it, obviously."

"I have no idea how. It just-- stopped."

"What stopped?"

"Everything. Your blood pressure stopped plunging. Your heartbeat slowed. You stopped hyperventilating. It just... stopped. One minute you were dying, and the next you weren't. After that, it was safer not to move you."

His memory handed him a deep voice, but he couldn't make out the words. He frowned, but it was gone already.

"I don't know what happened, but it took years off _my_ life," she said, crossing her arms. "I almost wish I'd let Blissey start chest compressions. You deserve a few cracked ribs to remind you how stupid this was."

"I didn't get attacked on purpose," he snapped. And then, remembering, "--That palossand, it was worse off than me. Is it all right?"

Her face smoothed out, and she nodded quickly. "It was touch and go, but we flushed its body with antidote and it pulled through. It's not conscious yet, but it's regaining cohesion well. I've had some of the kids bring in new sand for it."

She pushed her lips together then cleared her throat. "It wouldn't have made it, if you hadn't brought it in. Thank you."

"It didn't know what it was doing."

He was getting a neck-ache trying to look at her; he pulled his elbows up to his sides carefully, shifting his weight and sitting up. --Ow. Hurt, but it was an ache and not a weakness. Fling slid down his chest, hopping off him. He was actually feeling pretty decent, given the context.

The nurse was muttering about the chest compressions again.

"What's in the drip?"

"Saline. Dextrose. You were severely dehydrated, but Ramsay guessed that that was a pre-existing condition."

"Well, he was probably right," Nanu admitted. "...You going to let me leave?"

"Under supervision. Against my better judgement. We definitely don't have the facilities to treat a human for more than first aid." She frowned. "I want you to make an appointment in Malie, though, as soon as you can."

"Will do."

He'd put it on his lengthening list of things to get around to, anyway. But he was relying on her to want to see the back of him as soon as possible more than she wanted to lean on him about his medical history.

It wasn't much of a gamble; he could see in her eyes that she needed him out of her hair. The front door of the PMC opened and shut, and he saw relief flood her face. "Morning, Lillian!" someone called.

"Morning, Mel. Be right out." The nurse turned back to him, gave him one more long despairing look, and seemed to give up. "All right, let's get the IV out of you."

He offered up his arm wordlessly; let her bustle the IV stand away, tightening off the tubes and unhooking the bag while he inched into a straighter position, testing to see when all the blood in his head would realise he was moving.

"You said I'm being released under supervision," he said, after it was done. "Who?"

"Hibiscus. And Plumeria, after she goes to work."

"I'm under supervision by a seven-year-old."

"I just need someone to make sure you stay hydrated and don't die in your sleep for the next few hours. Plumeria is more than capable of that. I'd ask you, little lady, but you can't work a phone if he stops breathing." That last bit was directed to Fling, and accompanied with a rub behind the ears. Fling tilted its head into the touch, purring at the nurse.

He'd suspected Fling was a female of the species, but hadn't really thought much of it. He didn't know how to sex a meowth on sight. Or a sableye. Speaking of--

"That little gal with the z-crystal, did her trainer come get her?"

The nurse frowned. "She doesn't have a trainer."

"Oh. Guess I thought--" that if someone cared enough to decide whether a rock-eating ghost was male, female, or otherwise, it was probably a trainer. But maybe it was just Joy's way to get personal with her patients.

Pronouns were for humans, not pokémon-- pokémon didn't care. Hell, plenty of pokémon had biological sexes that only passingly mapped to the ones humans used. But it made humans comfortable to know, and pokémon put up with it indulgently.

For what it was worth, the nurse almost looked guilty. "She's very sweet when she's not trying to asphyxiate herself. I'm very fond of her."

"If she doesn't have a trainer, who brought her in?"

"A pair of surfers found her near here-- poor thing, she was clinging to a rock out in the water out past the reef. No idea how she got there." Joy shook her head, chin set. "Now that she's feeling better maybe I'll call Aether--"

No. "She can stay with me a while," he grated out, before he could think better of it. Then he glanced at Fling. "Unless there are any objections?"

"Nya." A negative.

It surprised him when Joy's face softened-- he'd expected her to argue. "I think she'd like that. She's been very needy. She could use a quiet, human presence."

Implied that Aether wouldn't give her that, but that didn't surprise Nanu. He'd met their type before, and they did tend to think that pokémon were better off with the least amount of human intervention. Stupid. Pokémon liked people as much as people did them. Which was to say some were assholes about it, some were friendly about it, and some badly needed company.

He wasn't much company, but the sableye was a lead in the mystery of the ghosts that he couldn't give up-- and he just didn't like the idea of her off in the whitewashed gleaming Aether foundation.

Besides, it'd give Plumeria something to do besides watching him sleep off this headache.

"She's curled up in Officer Ramsay's shirt right now," Joy said, tone softer now that they were off his own medical inadequacies and into the common ground of affectionate little beasts. "She cried when he had to leave, so I washed it off and gave it to her to comfort her."

She helped him off the stretcher. Fling was on his shoulder before he even registered it. He was getting used to having her-- well dammit, now he was doing it too, her-- up there. He'd braced for her weight without thinking about it, rolled his shoulders with her movements as she settle in. Joy led him out of the exam room, into the sunny front room-- he winced, squinted--where her relief was going over the night's paperwork with the chansey.

"Coming back tonight, Lil?"

Joy gave the younger nurse a resigned smile. "Unfortunately."

"I'm going to take a twelve hour shift today. Go home, please; get some sleep. Your wife's going to forget you exist," the younger woman tutted.

"Meli, you can't--"

"Lil, I already have."

Nanu hid a smirk. Joy hid her relief. Not well.

"All right, let me check out our choking patient-- and make sure Comfey's with you when the patient in 2b wakes up. It might be disoriented and aggressive, and Chansey--"

"--only has normal-type attacks, I know, it's fine," Meli soothed. The normal-type in question made a soft settle-down motion with its arm, as good-naturedly amused by the tired fussing as its human counterpart. "I can check out the sableye, if you want."

"I want to say goodbye to her."

"All right. But then straight home."

"Chan- Chansey," the chansey agreed sternly.

"Yes, all right. Though-- there's something odd about 2b, I wanted to--"

"Lil, can it wait until tonight?"

Joy's shoulders drooped. "It can," she admitted with a sigh.

"Mm-hmm."

She saw Nanu's smirk. "Not a word."

He'd been like that, once. Back when he kept the static at bay with desperation and caffeine. He'd lost the knack when he left the field for that desk job, and now he couldn't get it back, but he'd been like that. ...He'd had a partner who'd made him sleep occasionally, too.

Thinking about KR still hurt, dammit, but there was a comfort to the memories at least. He should-- try to get in contact. Something. Make sure he was all right. Of course, that would only work if KR wasn't embedded so deep in the new job that he was on radio silence, which considering his skillset was... likely.

Should have called him before he left, when he still would have had a chance at reaching him. Shouldn't have left things like he did. Nothing he could do about it now, needed not to dwell on it.

...Needed to think about what he was going to do to keep Plum from being miserable while she babysat him, think about making room for a troublesome ghost-type in that little hotel room. Think about somewhere to live that wasn’t a hotel room-- no. Not yet. The future stretched out, as vast and shapeless and hard to look at as the morning sun outside the windows.

Sableye wasn't immediately visible in room 1a, but Ramseys' black uniform shirt was heaped on the table and it was occasionally moving in a way that was perfectly normal for discarded items of clothing and not one bit suspicious.

"Sweetheart, it's time to go."

The shirt hissed curiously and wriggled until half a face was visible, one faceted eye peeping out suspiciously.

"Mister Nanu here says you can come stay with him for a while, if you want."

"Aaaah-?"

"Yaw," Fling confirmed, waving at her. Sableye waved back, delighted.

Nanu felt a soft tail lash against his back-- Fling was at least a little hesitant about this, too. The little ghost did look worryingly energetic.

They'd manage that problem when they got to it. He lifted his hand to scruff Fling's soft chest, and she leaned into him contentedly.

Sableye had a fit, briefly, when they tried to extract her from her canvas nest-- she didn't want to leave it. Nanu compromised by popping her onto his other shoulder and shrugging into the vastly oversized shirt. She liked that-- immediately burrowed into the loose neck and clung to his back in the shelter of the cloth.

Joy was smirking at him, now.

He gave her a dead-eyed look; didn't dignify her with a response.

When they came out, Hibiscus was there, in her work shoes, Plumeria bouncing in her sneakers beside her.

"Thanks for looking after this one, Lil," Hibiscus said with a resigned sigh. "The guardians know he won't look after himself."

Unfair, but he wasn't going to say so; he didn't want to get into an extended discussion about the ghosts.

"Come on, you," Hibiscus clicked her tongue at him like he was a recalcitrant tauros.

"Coming," he said, obediently, leaving the nurses to hand-off and be rid of him. He could feel at least one pair of tired eyes watching as he stepped out onto the dusty road, Plum stopping and turning to wave the racing to catch up.

He fell into step beside Hibiscus, and Plumeria immediately flanked him, herding him along as if he was going to go anywhere but straight back to bed.

"What happened to your back?" she asked. "Why are you wearing Ramsay's shirt?"

The chilly weight under the shirt squirmed and popped a head out.

"Oh!" Plumeria breathed. "Is that a sableye? Is it yours? I thought they were only up in the caves."

"Yes; no but she'll be staying with me for a while; she ought to be but I think she's had an interesting couple days herself."

"What do you mean? What happened? Why--"

"Plum, easy," Hibiscus said.

"Mom, I just--"

"Ssh. You're going to have to let Nanu rest, you know that. You can't stay with him and the meowth if you're going to keep him up."

"Right," Plumeria huffed.

...bless the kid, she was in it for the meowth. That made sense. He could feel fractionally less guilty about spirit shackling her to his boring hotel room.

"I appreciate it," he told her, feeling Hibiscus's eyes on him but addressing Plumeria straight. "They were going to ship me to Malie to hold down a hospital bed if someone wasn't there to keep an eye on me."

She puffed up, pleased. "Mom told them I know all the emergency numbers."

"She does," Hibiscus confirmed, with a smile in her voice.

Nanu smothered his own wan smile. Plum might take it the wrong way.

She might be the trial captain Molayne was looking for in a few years. She might wind up leading a community, like her mother. But he had no doubt she was going to wind up in authority somehow, organizing things with that steel will and keeping things running. It was endearing in a seven year old, but that wouldn't last-- she'd be a force to be reckoned with soon.

The idea that he might be around to see it hit him sudden and stunning as a Body Slam. The shapeless light of it solidified into clear shapes suddenly. Concrete images. Plum growing up, starting her trials. A room full of whiny dark types wherever he went, Fling a weight on his shoulder that he was already expecting instinctively. The sableye snuggled against his back. A community. People who knew his name, needed his help. He blinked at it, overwhelmed at the thought of starting life again. He’d never thought he’d want to.

“Mister Nanu? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, kid.” Maybe. No. Maybe. “Just-- a little loopy. Don’t worry about it.”

Hibiscus was giving him a sharp look. He lifted his head, nodded to her with his chin. “I’ve got things on my mind but I'm not out of it.”

She nodded back, mollified.

Hibiscus left them at the porch of the motel, leaning down for a quick muttered conference with her daughter.  Mostly reminders to ‘let him rest’ and ‘don’t be trouble’, set to a counterpoint of Plumeria’s ‘I _know_ , Mom.’  He left them to it and unlocked his room, slipping inside into still, humid air and the sour smell of overripe berries. They’d been out for a few days now, half bruised and burst from Fling and Notch’s scuffle.

He didn’t have time to think about it: there was immediate movement. Diva popped out from under the bed, Chip lifted its head from his pillow, and A5 trotted out of the bathroom, all of them immediately full of chattering questions he couldn’t understand.

Well, he could understand Diva—‘wow, wow, meowth?!’ was a plea for food.

Fling yawped and jumped gracefully from his shoulder to the dresser, addressing the other meowth imperiously. He caught that ‘ma-ow’ sound that they all seemed to agree was his name, an angry slithery hiss that must be referring to the palossand, a distinct growl he’d heard directed at Diva before. Definitely some variation on ‘shut up.’

Chip’s ears started to ratchet back with Fling’s explanation, almost flattening to its head at the part about the palossand. It bounded off the bed, ears back, and pawed at his legs until he lifted it; it gave him its own once-over, peering into his eyes and sniffing his hair until it was reassured that he wasn’t about to drop dead of ghost attack.

“Fling’s already given me the lecture,” Nanu deadpanned. “They pumped me full of fluids, I’m plenty healthy. Don’t worry.”

Chip shot Fling a look, and they both gave him a flat expression.

“Bsss. Eye?” Sableye chose the moment to pop her head out of the neck of his shirt again, and Chip yelped and swatted her in alarm. She shrieked, more surprised than hurt, and burrowed down again, little claws scratching through his t-shirt.

Plumeria popped in just in time to see this—him twisting in discomfort, Chip climbing onto his head to get eyes on the ghostly intruder, Sableye writhing under his borrowed shirt like a mobile hunchback.

“…are you okay?” she said, eyes wide.

“Naw,” Fling sighed, and then snapped something at Chip, who climbed down to his shoulder and leapt down to the floor, tail twitching. Plumeria flicked on the light.

Sableye crawled around him, pushed under his armpit, and huddled against his chest. She hadn’t been expecting all the cats, apparently.

“They won’t hurt you,” Nanu soothed, patting her rough, stony head.

“They’re super nice,” Plumeria added, picking up Chip by way of demonstration. Its tail flicked a few times, but at a warning look from Nanu it sheathed its claws and settled patiently into her hold.

The ghost-type gave another wary glance around the room, and then wriggled in his arms until he set her down, making an immediate bee-line for the darkness under the bed.

“Wait!” Plumeria said, dismayed.

“Let her settle in,” Nanu told her. “She just needs some time to process. And you kids don’t give her a hard time, all right?” he addressed the meowth.

A chorus of assent. And a “Wowwwwwl” from Diva. Nanu winced.

“I’m going to feed them and pass out, okay, kid?” The short walk had tired him out too much, and the thick air was making him sluggish already.  “You can watch TV or whatever. Wake me up if you need anything.”

“I can feed them if you tell me where the food is,” the little girl volunteered, and he decided there’d be no harm in that. She wanted to spoil the meowth, he wanted to lie down. He showed her where the food was stored, told her that only Fling was allowed to eat on the counter, and left her to it.

The springs on the bed creaked as he collapsed into it, wriggling out of Ramsay’s shirt. He dropped it over the side of the bed, and a clawed hand immediately shot out from under the bed to drag it into the darkness.  He shut his eyes, let the dull ache in his head push him under; before long, a weight hit the bed, and Fling chirped gently at him before snuggling against his hip. The TV turned on, too loud at first, quickly lowered.

He should probably try to clean up, since he had company. After he got his head down. Just for a minute. Figure out what to feed Plumeria, growing children needed actual lunch….

The thoughts slipped out of his grasp, and he settled into a half-sleep, content to contemplate the backs of his eyelids while the rest of the world happened somewhere else. He never got completely under— occasionally he’d tune back in long enough to recognize a commercial on the TV or hear the meowth running around after a bottlecap or focus on the soft scrabble of the sableye rummaging around under the bed. A breeze started, pushing him deeper asleep, the smell of hot flowers and dry grass and salt. Plumeria must have opened the window.

“I’m going to make noodles. Would you like some noodles?” Plumeria asked, at-- some point. He twitched almost awake.

“Nn.” He waved a hand. “Nap.”

The microwave dinged; he smelled flavored vegetable broth. It did smell good, but being horizontal felt better.

He hung in the balance between being too comfortable to move even slightly and a growing thirst until the balance tipped over to being uncomfortably thirsty but… still too lazy to get up. He wiggled his foot against the mattress, as if that one movement would kick-start the rest of his body. Wishful thinking.

He heard a scratching sound—not under the bed, over by the dresser. The sound of a twitchy little ghost climbing up, and then the soft tink of hard teeth on something solid.

“Whatever you’re eating, don’t,” he groaned, without opening his eyes.

Silence, except for the television.

Then another tink.

“Put that down,” Plumeria said, much more authoritatively.

He melted into the bed, not proud to leave the seven-year-old the responsibility of pokémon wrangling, but not so ashamed he was actually going to get out of bed.

Things escalated fast, then— he heard Plumeria stand up, move toward the sound; there was a ghostly hiss, a yelp, a thump, the sound of things rattling on top of the dresser, and a gasp. And then, after a millisecond of tense silence, a thud against the floor and the high sharp retort of glass cracking.

He wrenched his eyes open in time to see a dark purple blur streaking under the bed, and a wide-eyed Plumeria on her knees in front of the dresser, small hands hovering over his snowglobe. Even from the bed he could see the crack running through the thick glass, and the water bleeding out into a dark puddle on the floor.

For a horrified second she thought she’d cut herself—no, it was just a scratch on the back of her hand, from Sableye and not the glass, skin red but unbroken. Not that that was much better. Hibiscus was going to flay him.

“Are you okay?” He rolled out of bed heavily, staggering and cursing himself.  What the hell was wrong with him? Expecting a kid to wrangle a feral ghost type, too damn lazy-- “I’m sorry, kid.”

“It’s broken,” Plumeria said, her voice high. Her wide eyes were already pooling with moisture.

Tapus preserve.

“It’s okay,” he soothed, thumping down to his knees by her. “Let me see your hand.”

“It’s not okay!”  She jerked her hand away from his reach.

“It’s just a snowglobe. Kid, it’s just a snowglobe, it’s okay.”

“It’s _yours and I broke it,_ ” she snapped through furious tears.

“It’s just—tourist trash,” he said helplessly. The meowth were gathering cautiously around them, keeping a distance from the puddle.

“She was biting it, I tried to get it from her but I dropped it,” Plumeria said in a rush, face wrinkled up with guilt.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, I’m gonna get a towel.”

“Meowth,” Fling soothed, skirting the wet floor and reaching both paws for Plumeria’s scratched hand. “Ah-ah?”

“I’m okay,” the girl sniffed.

“Myaw,” Fling said darkly, and turned to look at the darkness under the bed. She gave Plumeria a soft-pawed pat on the hand, and then went to all fours to crawl under the bed.

Nanu snagged a dishtowel from the kitchenette, watching the bed warily—there was an argument going on under there, Fling and Sableye’s voices raising steadily.

“Should we stop them?” Plumeria whispered as he crouched down again.

He laid the towel out over the spilled water; it soaked through almost immediately. “No. Fling’s got seniority in here. She’s laying down the law. I’m not stepping in until she needs help.”

“Sableye didn’t mean to scratch me.”

“Doesn’t matter. Humans are squishy, and pokémon need to be careful about that.” Said a hypocrite; he’d put up with a few scrapes himself without complaint. It was just that Plumeria was a kid, and Hibiscus was terrifying, and honestly Sableye did need to learn that humans were soft, thin-skinned beasts. If she’d be staying, and Nanu wouldn’t feel comfortable just dumping her back in the foothills of Lanakila with the way things were.

The argument under the bed ended suddenly—there was a faint whiff of iron, a telltale crackle in the air, and then a sharp crack. Sableye shot out the other side, hand over one side of her face, bolting for the shelter of the nightstand.

“Saable,” she moaned, peering out. Nanu could see the shadowy scratches fading on her face, still tender enough that Sableye’s hand hovered over them twitching but not touching.  Fling came out from under the bed on their side, looking vindicated.

“That the end of it?”

“Yaw.”

“Okay. It’s my fault, too, bringing a feral pokémon home. So don’t go too hard on the little gremlin.”

“Meh.” Fling’s tail made a slow arc, the effect not unlike a shrug.  “Ah-ah?” she addressed Plumeria.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Plumeria said, letting the little grey pokémon give her hand a more thorough examination.

Nanu used the distraction to wrap the snowglobe in the soaking towel and sneak both of them into the kitchen—the snowglobe into the trashcan, the towel into the sink.

"I'll pay you back for it," Plumeria sniffed behind him, lest he think he'd gotten away with disposing of the evidence.

"It's okay, it's not--" Hell, he knew why she was upset, he could still imagine with perfect clarity the cold silence his mom would have given him if he'd broken one of his neighbors’ things. But it wasn't anything-- it was a gag gift from KR, and not the only one of those he had, even. Oh, it was a shame it was broken, he was a little sad about it, but it didn't deserve all this angst. These things happened. But he didn't know what to say to Plumeria to make it all right, across the gulf of adulthood and nihilism.

"--Hey, let's get outside, get some fresh air. I could use a walk. Let’s drop by the PMC for a snack. It'll seem less dire over a lemonade, what do you say?"

When in doubt, bribery. It'd served him well as a junior trainer, and as a non-junior non-trainer too.

"Okay," Plumeria mumbled, though her face was set in a Hibiscus-like scowl that told him she had no intention of letting it drop.

He rummaged around for a fresh shirt, ducking into the curtained bathroom to change.

"I tell you where I got it?" he asked conversationally, knowing full well he hadn't.

"No." A flat, no-nonsense response from a no-nonsense kid who knew he was trying to distract her. He caught himself smiling wryly in the mirror.

"I was in northeast Kalos," he said, jamming the new shirt over his head and stepping out, pretending he hadn't heard the implied 'shut up, old man' in Plumeria's monosyllable. "Snowbelle City. Gorgeous. Cold, though; a whole city with weather like the highest parts of Lanakila. Me and another agent were tracking down some poachers."

"Did you get them?" Despite herself, she was drawn in. He smirked.

"Yeah, sure did. Oh, they got the drop on us, things looked a little precarious for a second there, but the gym leader stepped in and lent a hand. Tell you what, he'd probably send me a new snowglobe if I asked," he lied. It was unlikely that the man remembered Nanu as well as Nanu remembered him.

If Wulfric did remember, it was something to the tune of 'that idiot agent who went off into the snow to catch poachers and had to be pulled out of a snowdrift handcuffed to one of his targets.' The gym leader had laughed-- kindly, mostly in response to 100KR's frantic lecture, pulled off his coat and wrapped it around Nanu. He'd been in nothing but a thin shirt, but he hadn't seemed to feel the cold, even as Nanu shivered and burrowed into the thick parka and thought worrying thoughts about frostbite. Maybe the thick chest hair and the layers of padding were  some kind of defensive adaptation.

Nice guy, Wulfric. 100KR had teased him about it, after the furious worry was past. Bought him the snowglobe to remember 'good friends', said with a lot of innuendo-- or maybe that was just KR's accent.

"What's a gym?" Plumeria asked, tugging him out of the memory.

"Oh, it's a ... it's a mainland thing, started in Kanto, sort of like a captain's trial. Most cities have some tough trainer with a specialty who can put young trainers through their paces. They use normal pokémon, though, and they don't retire when they're too old. Hell, some of them are older than me. The Snowbelle gym leader was about my age when he stepped in to help with the poachers."

"Weird," Plumeria opined, then frowned. "Isn't it weird when the kahuna is younger than them?"

"Other regions don't have kahunas."

Her eyes widened.

"Yeah, I know, it's pretty backwards out there," he rambled on. "Got the elite four and the champion, and that's close, but it's more an elected thing. Like the mayor. The local deities... don't get involved."

He decided to save the whole 'because they don't have local deities, or at least the ones they do mostly don't show up to social events' conversation. It seemed a little cruel. No need to tell the kid that the world off-island was that much colder and emptier than on.

Instead he held the door open for her, shooing her out onto the porch and the heavy golden sunlight, following slowly behind; a chorus of meows bid him farewell, but only Fling seemed to want to brave the mid-afternoon heat with them.

He stooped so that she could jump to his shoulder if she wanted, but she patted his leg and followed Plumeria under her own steam.

"You, C1. With the eyeballs," he said, turning back to stare into the hotel room, addressing the dresser firmly. A red, faceted eye peeked over the top. "Yes you."

"Ssssable?"

"You're going to behave while we're gone? Not going to choke to death on something shiny?"

"Eye," she said contritely.

"Don’t think you can pull anything. This bunch would narc on you for half a pokebean, wouldn't you, you little bast--" he glanced at Plumeria. "--snoops."

Chuckles and general sounds of agreement from the meowth. One squawk of heartfelt offense from Diva, but if it remembered it was angry at him for more than fifteen minutes he'd eat his wallet.

"That's what I like to hear. Be nice to Eyeball now, she’s had a rough couple days."

He shut the door behind him; now he could just hope he came back to a room that was at least 50% intact and not on fire. They probably wouldn't throw him out as long as it wasn't on fire.

"You're a really good trainer," Plumeria said, and for a second he was sure he couldn't have heard her right. She stepped off the motel porch, forcing him to follow into the direct sunlight. He squinted down at her

"I'm not a trainer."

"But they listen to you, and you understand them, and they all really like you," she pointed.

"They humor me, and I used to work with a purrloin-- similar body-language. But they're not my partners, they're just... freeloaders who moved in."

"This one is definitely your partner." Plumeria said, smiling down at Fling.

"She is not--" he didn't get to finish that, because he had to duck a shower of gravel. "...really?"

Fling growled at him, tail twitching with irritation.

"Come on," he objected, bewildered.

The meowth leaned forward, picking up another little pawful of dust and stones, her eyes full of not threat but promise.

"...well, I'm definitely her human," he sighed.  "But I don't battle anymore. I wasn't a trainer proper back in the day, either. I just did police-work with pokémon partners. It’s different."

"That's okay! You don't have to battle. Matcha and Sencha haven't battled in a long time. They're still mom's partners."

"You've got a point."

Fling chirred approval at the girl, patting dust off her front paws. When she couldn't clean them to her satisfaction, she fell back to wipe them on Nanu's pants.

"Thanks for that," he drawled. "You sure you don't want a ride? I want you up here where there's less ammo." And less dust, period; it had been a few days since a rain now, and they were kicking up a dust rail like a herd of tauros in the Safari Zone. The taste of it was as familiar as his name. And he was as unused to it as hearing his name, too. He’d only been ‘Nanu’ again for a couple months. And some of his colleagues had found the two syllables impossible. But here he was, Nanu again, not Trip-Nanu or Zer-nanu or Agen-uh-nanu. And here he was tasting the sea, the dust, of his home island.

Fling kept him from sinking into maudlin philosophizing; he’d made her an offer and she accepted, leaping up into his arms,  scrubbing her cheek across his. He settled her comfortably onto his shoulder.

They kept a slow pace past the campground-- Plumeria keeping a watchful eye on him as if he might keel over, him pretending he didn't feel like he wanted to just keel over-- and the ruined village, approaching the PMC as its shadow stretched out toward them and the sky turned orange, the sun painting the water red-gold.

There was a vaguely familiar young woman sitting on the stairs, knees wide and posture bad, brows knit and jaw out in generalized teenage disgruntlement. Skull print headband.  Kou's friend, what was her name--

"Alena, hi!" Plumeria waved happily.

Right. That one.

"Hey, Plum-sauce." The surly expression broke for a second, and then came back double-strength as Alena remembered that she was a hard-bitten gang member. "Hey, _cop._ "

"Afternoon."

"We're getting some lemonade," Plumeria said. "Do you want some?"

"Hey, maybe in a minute."  Alena pointed at him. "First, we've got business. I can't have cops wandering around messing with my buddies."

Oh joy.

"Is that so."

The girl spread her arms wide. "We've got a score to settle! I'm gonna test your mettle." She rolled her wrists down, flowing into a pointing pose that indicated the steps. He got the sense she’d been practicing that for a while. "So pass my trial or here I settle."

"Used settle twice."

"Shut up!"

"It was cool," Plumeria said kindly. "Can we go now?"

"You can go in. The old dude's not going anywhere until he battles me."

"Kid, don't make me move you. I'm very tired. I almost got eaten last night." Just one of her, no poison type in the mix? He’d have to be a lot worse off before she posed a threat.

"Aw, I want to see a battle," Plumeria sighed, making him pause.

"Did you forget. That I don't have any--"

Fling smacked his nose, light, just chiding. The way you’d swat a rockruff’s nose when it barked at a stranger.

"Ow. What, you want to rumble? I didn’t think you were the type."

"Yaw," she said, giving Alena an oddly intent look that Nanu couldn't interpret.

"Three to one says we're doing this, geezer," Alena crowed, plucking a pokéball out of her pocket.  "Killer, come out! Let's KICK SOME TAIL!"

The ball spat light that quickly solidified into a furry shape-- a big meowth, battle-scarred, with a notch in one ear.

"Hey, there you are. I was actually starting to worry," Nanu said, stooping to greet it. Fling glared down at the other meowth from his shoulder, claws digging in for balance or possibly animosity. "...'Killer', huh?"

Meowth A3, formerly designated Notch, preened happily and ran over for a scratch behind the ear. It stuck out a paw, offering him a little stick-pen-- still capped, seal unbroken, he wasn’t going to ask where it got that.

"Hey!" Alena said, dismayed, and No-- Killer's ears flicked, as it looked worriedly between them.

"Nah, it's okay, you give that stuff to your trainer now. No worries. We'll all get dinner and healing potions after this, yeah?"

"Meowth!" Killer said, brightening. That and a few pets from Plumeria seemed to reassure it; it went dashing back to Alena's side, offering the antidote to her instead. Pikipek were starting to call from the trees now, a chorus of voices rising in wave from behind the centre. The sun slipped far enough behind the foothills that he didn’t have to squint.

Fling's tail was thumping against his neck with quick regularity now, and she muttered unhappily as he carefully straightened back up.

"That's why you were so fired up?" he murmured, just for the pokémon. "Still sore about that spat the other day?"

"Yaw," she said darkly.

"Well, I'll stay out of your way while you handle things. Try not to get yourself hurt, okay?"

Fling scoffed at him. As if she would ever. The very thought.

He hunched forward and she springboarded off his shoulder in one fluid motion, squaring up in front of Alena's meowth. Nanu couldn't help but comparing their relative sizes.  Fling had speed on her side, he was pretty sure-- A3 wasn't the most graceful specimen of meowth-kind-- but still he worried.

No, he shouldn't worry. This was barely even a battle. Alena was only just getting to know her meowth and he'd never seen Fling actually battle. She knew how to Feint Attack, he was pretty sure-- the marks on Sabeleye had been claws, not teeth, so she hadn't used Bite, and there had been marks at all so she hadn't used Scratch or Fury Swipes. He knew exactly one thing she could do; not enough to build a battle plan out of. Shame she couldn’t use her namesake move, not that he had much to give her for ammo. But you could do a lot with a combination of Fling and the pickup ability…

No, stop strategizing.  He and Alena were mostly going to be staying out of the way and letting them sort it out. They'd step in if things got too rough, that was one of the things pokémon kept humans around for, but he had no illusions about who'd be calling the shots.

“Well, all right. Guess we’re doing this. Show me what you’ve got,” he told Fling, shuffling back until there was about ten feet between him and Alena. The clear space in front of the PMC would do as a battleground for two smaller pokémon-- and hopefully neither of them knew any moves that would tear up the landscape too much. “Try not to take any hits you don’t need to.”

The meowth winked at him before she made a big show of looking at Not-- Killer then licking one paw and shining up her charm nonchalantly.

Plumeria backed away to the side of their impromptu battleground— just to where the grass gave way to the dusty road— and watched with fascination, her gaze going between him and Alena. She had no idea which way this was going to go, and honestly, neither did Nanu

"Killer! You ready?" Alena said, and his focus narrowed in on her and her partner.

_This isn’t a life or death scrap, she’s just a dumb teenager, don’t get over-invested now--_

Killer hunkered down in front of its girl, rear legs squared up under it, front paws up and claws extended.

"Killer, use--"

Fling was on all fours and hurtling forward before she got the command out, swatting the other pokémon hard across the face-- no claws, but the smack of impact louder than sheer mass could account for.

 _Fake Out._ Well, now he knew one of the pokémon's tricks. Too bad it was one that only worked once. She was fast, though, fast and effective like Nanu knew she would be.

"Use Fury Swipes!" Alena yelled desperately.

Killer stared dumbly, ears swiveling as it tried to get its bearings, stunned. It made a weak little swipe at nothing as Fling rounded on it.

“Press it,” Nanu barked unnecessarily.

Instead of attacking again, Fling pattered back a few steps and rose to her back feet, chest swelling as she let out a yowl that made both humans wince. There were harmonics in there that skittered down his spine— and they did a lot more than that to another pokémon. Killer's ears flattened back and its tail lashed viciously, a shudder ruffling its fur.

"Don't get careless," the girl urged. "You can take them! Fury Swipes!"

That Screech might have opened a hole in Killer's defense, but it hadn't done a thing to its ability to attack-- the bigger meowth barreled forward, claws flashing as it delivered one, two, three heavy slashes into Fling's side, a fourth whistling through the air as Fling sprung back.

He could see the cuts coming up red-- deceptively mild scratches, the kind he had all over his knees from being climbed up, barely bleeding, but he could also see Fling breathing hard, eyes lidded a little heavier. Normal type attacks looked so mild and so much less flashy than other types, but they hurt like hell, carrying that crushing impact with them. He'd been Swiped; he knew what Fling was feeling.

"Fury Swipes again!"

Fling let out another defiant nerve-rattling Screech before Killer was in reach, then crouched-- hey, bright creature, she let the first swipe make contact and used the inertia to roll away, leaving Killer's claws slicing up the air. It still looked like it hurt— Plumeria gasped, somewhere on the sidelines, and the sound ratcheted up his anxiety a little higher.  

Had to remind himself that pokémon were tougher than humans, had to remind himself that they recovered fast, that they did this all the time, that Fling wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want to.

She was just so small, though. Small and not trained. Scrafty had been small when she was just a scraggy, but she’d been raised with her rough and tumble growlithe half-siblings, had been training to be a cop since she popped out of the egg and surprised the breeders. Fling was-- Fling wasn’t a veteran, she was a spoiled lap cat descended from spoiled lap cats and she looked so fragile compared to Killer.

"I know you know what you're doing, but if you've got a plan, you mind letting me know?"

Fling gave him an almost apologetic look, definitely the closest you were going to get from a meowth.

"What else have you got? Let me at least try to help here,” he said, despite all his best intentions of staying out of this.

She nodded, wiggling to loosen her spine and get ready.

Alena was biting her lip, trying to come up with a strategy now when brute force was failing, and the field was in play-- Nanu nodded. Fling pounced gleefully; Killer tried to dodge, but its bulk worked against it now, and Fling landed on its back, laying a bite into the back of its neck that snapped with dark energy.

"Shake it off !" the girl shouted, and Killer growled its agreement, spinning sideways and hurling Fling to the ground. A neat countermove with time to attack, if he was her he'd use Fury Swipes while his opponent was down--

"Taunt!" Alena ordered, instead, and Killer let out an unsettling, grating snarl-- Fling's pupils contracted sharply, and she hissed.

Riled up like that she wouldn't be able to concentrate on the mind-games that broke an opponent's defense. Screech was off the table.

They were a little screwed if they had to go on the offense now; Fling was already hurting, and if that Bite was the strongest thing her arsenal there was no way to end the fight quickly. Their best chance had been dodging and whittling down Killer’s defense until a few decisive moves could end it. Now, they were in for a long haul and Killer obviously had stamina to spare.

Fling looked up at him for guidance and any plans he’d had to keep out of the fight Self Destructed on the spot. If Killer hadn’t had a human trainer to remind it to use something besides a full frontal attack, Fling might have the upper hand— but she didn’t, and she needed him. Getting involved now was just evening the battlefield.

She’d done a lot for him. He’d do his best for her.

If that meant absolutely destroying a teenage girl in battle, so be it. He bared his teeth in a humorless smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Uh… old dude?” Alena said, taking a half-step back, as far as she could before hitting the steps to the pokémon center.

“Something the matter?” he asked, conversational tone laced with dark implications.

He might not be able to Intimidate, but he could intimidate with the best. He needed a second to think, and Alena needed to think he had a plan so she moved slower.

Really he was just regrouping, flicking through ideas. Killer settled in front of its trainer again, waiting eagerly for a move.

It was warmed up now, ready to fight, and Fling looked rattled. The endgame wasn’t her strong suit, he could tell. She wasn’t used to her fights going on this long.

"You got anything else you can use?" he drawled.

It unsheathed its claws.

"Thought so. Fury swipes!"

Killer took two and then ducked under another, sending Fling off balance, her tail lashing desperately as she tried not to stumble into a hit.

"Bite!”Alena barked.

It lunged-- at Fling's flicking tail, jerking the smaller pokémon to the ground, hard. Fling yowled, as much indignant as pain. Killer's eyes were bright, and it chattered out something that, based on Fling's hiss, had to be an insult.

“Get up!” Plumeria yelled from the sidelines, worried enough to forget battle decorum.

Fling scrabbled up to her back feet, threw another Fury Swipes, but the impact was minimal and Killer was on her in a second, grabbing her by the tail again. Every time Fling so much as twitched, Killer honed in and just steamrollered her.

But it waited for her to move, even now that she was slowing down, even now that they were in close quarters. Its trainer did too; she was following her partner’s strengths. Killer was reactive, scrappy…

Nanu's eyes narrowed.

"Hey. Hey." He snapped his fingers, dropping to his haunches, desperately trying to snatch Fling’s attention back. "Focus on the game, not the trash talk. Don't let it rile you up without even blowing a move. You with me?"

Fling climbed back to her feet, looking over her shoulder dubiously at him. That Bite had caught her off guard, and she was panting, hunched over.

"You're smarter than this. You're going to be the one that walks out," he said quietly. His poké-- the pokémon's ears flicked. She’d heard him.

"Look at your opponent. It's excitable. If you control when it gets excited, you control its attack. You get too sloppy, it’s coming for you.”

He raised a finger, flicking it lazily back and forth. Fling's eyes widened with understanding.

"You're fast, but I think it's time to take your turn for a while. Choose when things happen. Got me?"

"Yaw." Fling blinked slowly at him, ducking a little human-friendly nod to make sure he understood her. She turned away from him, squaring up bravely, and started to rock softly from hind-foot to hind-foot.

"What are you waiting for, loser?" Alena demanded. "Gonna stall us out?"

"We can wait all day,” he drawled. “Why don’t you make a move?”

"Yeah?"

Killer bared its fangs and started forward.

"No, wait, they've got something planned. You gotta stay put."

It whined, attention flicking between her and Fling.

"You can do this, they can't psych you out," the girl encouraged.

Fling continued her slow rock-- it was uncanny, he'd never seen a meowth do that. Of course, all that nervous energy usually got out via a twitching tail, and Fling's abused tail was hanging limply behind her as if hurt.

Killer tracked its movement as if hypnotized, waiting for the catch, the opening, and Alena did too-- Killer's ears were flattened back and its own tail was lashing like a whip in confusion, its trainer slowly starting to panic.

"Now," Nanu said in an undertone.

Fling's tail flicked out sideways, fast as a whip, and Killer pounced on instinct. Its teeth snapped on air as Fling whisked the lure back.

"No!” Alena shouted.

"Bite!" Nanu growled.

Fling turned as if she was chasing her own tail, and caught Killer on the shoulder with her teeth, giving a little shake. Dark energy arced between them; Killer squeaked in pain and shock, freezing.

"Fury Swipes, come on!" Alena pleaded, but the meowth was stunned again, wide open for another attack.

"Fury Swipes yourself," Nanu ordered, and Fling raked its opponent across the face -- again, again, and again. Now Killer was staggering.

"Now get back and go still again."

"We're not going to fall for this twice, Killer. You can do it! Concentrate for me!"

Fling stared her opponent down, going back into that uncanny slow rock.

The big meowth dug its hind claws into the dirt, fur standing on end with the effort of not jumping out of turn again. And with it so focused on not moving, well. That was quite an opening, wasn't it?

"Swipes!"

Fling bolted across the space between them, bringing her momentum into the hit as she raised her claws and swung in one continuous blur of motion, opening up thin red lines over Killer's scarred face and finishing with a slap that cracked like thunder and sent it staggering back.

Killer made a surprised little sound, and then its feet went out from under it.

"Oh no, baby, oh no!"

Alena dropped to her knees beside her pokémon, cradling it gently in her lap. "I'm so sorry. You did such a good job." She held up Killer’s ball; the meowth’s unconscious body dissolved into light and vanished into it, to whatever quiet place they went to inside those things.

Best he’d been able to decipher from Scrafty, it was like sleeping. Which sounded nice. There were worse things.

"Meeehee." Fling turned to Nanu, crossing her forepaws over her chest and giving him a look of smug satisfaction.

"Good job." He didn’t have a ball for her, so he crouched down with his arms out, and she let him pick her up and hold her like a human baby without complaint— oh, she was tired, he could feel her little chest heaving, but she snuggled in against his chest and started a bone-rattling purr.

“Are you okay? Mister Nanu, is she okay?” Plumeria came pelting up, wide-eyed. Her open-mouth dismay turned into a hesitant smile as Fling peeked out of his arms and waved a paw.  

“Yeah, she’s okay. A little roughed up, but after we get her healed up she’ll be fine.”

“Right! Hey, you did really good. You did so good,” Plum crooned, very gently rubbing behind her ear.

“Miaw,” Fling said, preening her whiskers, making a show of indifference. Nanu could feel her purr kick up another few rpm, though.

“Everything you thought it would be?”

“It was cool,” Plumeria decided.

“Great. Glad to hear it. Let’s not do it again. Huh, little fighter? We good now?”

“Eh,” Fling said. “Meh.” She settled comfortably into his arms, ears settling into a neutral position, abused tail folding over his elbow. Seemed like her score was settled.

“C’mon. Promised you lemonade,” he said, starting up the stairs; Plumeria flanked him, almost bouncing with excitement.  

He took a few steps and stopped.

"Kid?" he asked, because Alena was just standing there clenching and unclenching her fist and looking upset.

"I'm out of revives," the girl whispered. She bit her lip.

“If only there were somewhere where you could get your partner patched up. Some kind of… center,” Nanu said, inclining his head at the bright white building directly in front of them.

“Nurse Meli kicked me out. She said I’m not allowed back in without an adult. And I think that’s a load of mudbray--”

Nanu cleared his throat. “So come in with us. I’m an adult, despite evidence to the contrary.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!”

“Oh for f— look, if Plumeria asks, will you go in?”

“Sure, yo.”

“Come on, you can have lemonade with us, and then we’ll go see if dinner is started,” Plumeria commanded.

“Yeah. But I’m not with him, right?”

“Right, you’re with me,” Plumeria said tolerantly, shockingly good at handling the bullshit of someone more than twice her age. Tapus guard him, he definitely hadn’t been that grown up at seven. If he’d been in her place, he’d have said something he thought sounded smart and mean and then gone to hide behind Ohai before he got smacked. Not that he’d had any more muscle than Nanu’d had, back then, but he’d already been shooting up like an exeggutor.

They all trooped in together— this was becoming a habit, him with a surly Skull or two in tow— to find Nurse Meli hovering over something with a wide-eyed, rumpled looking Lillian Joy.

“What are you doing back here?” Joy asked, glaring at him. The bags under her eyes almost looked like bruises.

“I’m getting the kids some lemonade and getting this one healed up. What are you doing here?”

“I figured out something,” she said cryptically. “I need to talk with you later.”

“Okay?”

“Mee?” Fling murmured, turning over and giving her a curious look.

“Oh, there’s that lovely meowth,” Meli said, standing up, putting on a business smile. “What happened, sweetheart? Were you fighting?”

“Mister Nanu and Alena had a battle,” Plumeria said innocently.

Both nurses shot him a judgmental look.

“I— that’s not exactly—”

“Yeah, well, I took it easy on him,” Alena snapped. “Whatever. You gonna take care of Killer or what?”

“Of course.” Nurse Meli reached out for the ball that Alena handed over with infinite care. “Where’s your partner’s ball, sir?”

“She’s not— I don’t have a ball right now.”

“Well, fortunately, there’s a kiosk right here where you can buy them,” she said sweetly. “Come here, honey. Let’s get you patched up.”

He set Fling on the front desk, and she allowed Nurse Meli to check her over quickly before putting her onto a little stretcher next to Killer’s ball.  

He watched her get wheeled in, and then went to see about drinks and snacks, ordering Alena into a chair, Plumeria obligingly sliding into the one beside her. He barely had the drinks and some lava cookies set on the table before Joy was waving him over.

“Are the meowth okay?”

“They will be soon. Their injuries aren’t unusual,” she reassured him. She shot a glance at the two girls in the cafe. “This is about the palossand and the sableye. And you. Look at this.”

“It’s a glass bottle,” Nanu said, squinting at it. It was empty. No-- there was a glint inside it, not from the glass. Whatever it was, it was almost as clear as the bottle.

“This was what poisoned you,” she said, unamused, and tipped the little screw-top vial so the thing inside caught the light. He still had to lean in close to even see it; it looked like a needle of glass with a tiny flare on one end, thin, sharp, and almost transparent, no longer than his thumbnail.  

He’d seen one of those before.

“It’s a nematocyst. A kind of stinger,” Joy clarified for him. “But not the kind of stinger you get on a beedrill, or a-- wait, you don’t have those in Alola, let me think--”

“No, I know what a beedrill is,” he said, as everything around him seemed to go quiet. “And I know what this is. A poison type thing. Little… spring wound stingers some of them keep in their skins. Frillish have them. Tentacruel. Mareanie evolved big ones they can fire. The nidos have something like them but not quite.”

“You know your stuff.” She sounded justifiably surprised.

“Yeah, I— picked this up a few months ago.”

From a woman who was dead now. Esperanza had given him the lecture over a hotel desk, shoving his head down to look through a magnifier. She’d pointed out the perfectly symmetrical hooks on the delicate, coiled crystal barb, the impossibly flexible coil of inflexible stone. There was just a drop, a miniscule amount of oily blue-gray poison in the little capsule at the end of it. Individually, not enough to do much of anything, she told him, but there would be dozens of them on every square inch of tentacle. When she tapped the thing with a little metal probe, it had unfurled too fast for the eye to see, suddenly a crystal harpoon injecting its poisonous payload into nothing.

KR had been handcuffed to the one of beds during all this. They’d both had time to get used to, and tune out, the virulent and mostly incomprehensible Kalosian profanities. He was sweating, panting, dizzy, because he’d put his hand full on one of the corpses and the thing about these stingers was that they apparently still worked after the beast was dead. Oh, KR hadn’t gotten as much of a dose as the crazies who got engulfed, but it’d still hurt him like hell and he was veering between panic and dangerous rage fast enough that he’d insisted on cuffing himself to something. He was a good boy. He hadn’t wound up doing or saying anything too awful, and they hadn’t wound up needing a defibrillator, so it’d been all right.

Even so it’d been a bad night. It was a bad night and Nanu had gotten less of an exposure, just a brush of tentacle during the fight, but he should have remembered how it felt, pins and needles and the sense of floating, he should have remembered, he’d seen the crystal shards glittering in the sand and he’d been too drugged up and stupid to understand--

And he’d let Ramsey touch the tainted sand, scoop it up, and Ramsay had escaped more than a few pricks because he hadn’t been buried in the pallosand’s body but what if he hadn’t been so lucky, what if Nanu had just let him jam his hands into the mess and he’d had to sweat and shiver and almost have a heart attack like KR, because Nanu made the wrong call _again_ \--

“The poor palossand was riddled with them. And I saw some debris on Sableye, I didn’t think much of it, but she must have been stung too. And some of them were stuck in your skin. A lot of them, actually. I thought they were just beach junk, but then I thought to look at one under a microscope, and the structure is unmistakable. They have barbs on the end, they’re meant to stick. Not that they stick well in a pile of sand, but in you…” she shook her head.  “Some of the ones in the palossand never discharged, and it took a while, but I got a sample of the poison. It’s the strangest stuff I ever saw.”

“It’s a neurotoxin. It fires the adrenal glands. Produces stress hormones,” Nanu said dully. “Makes folks violent and strong, but it’ll burn them out in the end. It’s why my heart was trying to overload last night. Must pack a hell of a punch to pokémon, if it got through a double resistance.” Ghost and ground. Palossand would be able to shake off most poisons. Not this one. How could you evolve a defense to something that wasn’t even from the same world?

_Triples you damn idiot. One of a handful of people on the planet who could have identified it and you couldn’t even recognize it when it was jammed into you--_

“How do you know that?” Joy asked, drawing back a little. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. It doesn’t match the venom of any pokémon on record, how could you know that?”

“Classified. Can I have that vial?”

“You absolutely cannot.”

“Fine. I’m sending a woman here to get it. From Aether. You can trust her, though. Jane Wicke, she’s a… specialist. She-- she’ll tell you whatever she’s allowed, I guess.”

He didn’t want the thing anywhere near him but he didn’t want it here, either, like a bad omen. It shouldn’t be around people. It shouldn’t be around ghosts either, and he still didn’t know what that meant, but they were morbid little monsters, maybe they’d been fascinated by the corpse and got too close? Maybe it wasn’t a corpse, and they found that out too late….

His head felt like it was full of chaff. He didn’t know what to do, he had to know what to do because it was his job, it was his responsibility…

“Sir? Are you…” Joy started to ask, and was thankfully interrupted by Nurse Meli coming out of one of the treatment rooms with a comfey hovering above her head and a cart containing one pokéball and one much-healthier-looking Fling.  

“Ma-ow!” the meowth greeted him happily, but paused in alarm at the look on his face.

“We’re all feeling much better,” Meli said obliviously, looking past Nanu and toward the cafe. “Alena, your partner is awake and feeling fine, come get her ball.”

Fling sprung off the cart and onto the desk, examining things with interest. Joy put the vial into a holding tray and pushed it out of the way.

“Look, I’d really rather hold onto that,” Nanu tried one more time. And he really wouldn’t, actually, but he had to get it to Jane fast and explain what was going on.

“No,” Joy said firmly, before being distracted by a small furry head nudging under her chin. “Hello, sweetheart. Oh, yes. You’re looking much better. Have you been looking out for your silly trainer? I bet you have.”

Fling blinked slowly and arched under her hand, accepting scratches and affection from the tired nurse like it was her due.  Then she turned to Nurse Meli and repeated the process, sprawling shamelessly on the desk and rubbing everything with her cheek to remind any other pokémon who came along that she owned the place.

Then, suddenly as a storm, she’d had enough affection. She leapt over the counter and dashed toward the door.

Meli shook her head, chuckling.  “Who knows what they think about?”

“Not me,” Nanu agreed. It wasn’t usual for Fling to hair off like that, but then again people said that meowth could sense things that people couldn’t. Maybe she was chasing invisible shedinja.

Alena came over to retrieve Killer’s ball, releasing her own pokémon immediately and showering her with apologies.  Killer headbutted her on the forehead affectionately, hard enough to make Alena’s eyes water, and suffered itself to be hugged tight. No hard feelings. That was good. That was good, he didn’t actually mind that A3 had found itself a real trainer, he was even something approaching happy for them.  

Plumeria trailed over, holding half a cookie and her foam cup of lemonade. She held up the cookie to Killer, who accepted it eagerly and allowed her to touch its forepaws and tell it how good it was. Bribery, that was the way. What a smart kid.

The two girls headed out together, bright and full of energy; Fling slipped out the door with them, and he was alone, and his head was full of static, and he just barely made himself move and get out the door before Joy could ask any pointed questions about his health and well-being.

It was dark outside already, the sun finishing its slide behind Lanakila while they’d been busy inside, but still humid and a little muggy. The girls were already halfway to the path that lead to the campground, but he stopped like the humidity was a solid barrier.  Fueled by the change in temperature and light, his vague discomfort ratcheted up to nausea.

“Ma-ow?” came the question from just beside the doorway.

Fling had been waiting for him. She hadn’t followed the two girls down the path or run off to get in trouble-- she’d waited for him. A pulse of gratitude and relief made it through the static.

“Hey there. You’re a spoiled rotten beast, you know that? Got them all wrapped around your littlest claw,” Nanu said tiredly, but he smiled at her, maybe a little pathetically. He’d thought he might not see her again tonight, after the exit she’d made.

Fling chuckled, turning her back to Plumeria and Alena. She opened her paw discretely and in the porchlight Nanu could see the gleam of thin glass between her claws.

Oh. Pickup. The little con artist, she’d boosted it right under Joy’s nose. That was why she’d made the dash for the door so suddenly, although she’d made it look convincingly like species-typical nonsense. She was so savvy. So much more loyal than he’d done anything to deserve.

“You go ahead,” he called to the girls, trying to sound normal, not remembering how normal sounded. “I won’t fall over between here and the camp, I promise.”

“Okay! We’ll save you some food.” Plumeria promised, a bright counterpoint to Alena’s grumble.  

He crouched down beside Fling, angled to her to shield her as if someone was going to spot her contraband.

“You don’t have to get in trouble for me,” he whispered to her.

She shrugged, offering him the vial. “Meh.” He’d wanted it. So she’d gotten it for him. Simple as that.

He took it like it might explode, but he didn’t like the idea of her holding it for a second longer.  The innocuous little shard of crystal inside just barely caught the bright white porch light.

“Do you even know what this is?”

A negative sound.

“It’s… bad news. Real bad news. You need to promise me to stay off the beach.”

“Myah?”

“It might be dead. I hope it’s dead, but they still sting after they’re dead. KR got poisoned off a dead one. They’re dangerous. So you can’t go anywhere near the black sand. Promise me,” he demanded. His hands were trembling. 

Fling’s ears flattened out with concern; she patted his knee, trilling a soft reassurance at him. 

“Mrr, Ma-ow,” she soothed him. He recognized the first sound from when she’d been yelling at Diva, although it was less aggressive this time. So. ‘Shut up, Nanu,’ but kindly. 

She squeaked a little when he picked her up, but didn’t claw or wriggle free. She let him pet her a little too hard, purred deep in her chest for him, nuzzling her face against his, her charm bumping his cheek.  

“Hey old man?” Alena had doubled back when he didn’t catch up, was hovering at the head of the path back to the campground. “You okay, dude?” 

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” 

_I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine_

He was usually pretty good with a lie, but this one was sounding less and less convincing every time.   
  



	15. Catching Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nanu meets an old friend, discusses fashion choices, and comparative child psychology. He's finally starting to put together some pieces.

Dawn found Nanu where night left him: on the couch, staring at nothing.

Only the quality of the darkness told him it was morning, belatedly, the dimness in motel room taking on a hint of red, the light from the television no longer quite as harsh. He realised he could hear pikipek outside, awake and calling with the sun. Had been for a while.

He’d stopped at the campground for dinner, though he didn’t remember it. The old tape reel with its preprogrammed answers had sputtered back to life, and he thought he’d made almost-human-sounding conversation with Laura and Plumeria about… only the Tapus knew what. It was all a skittery, slick blurr. He’d managed to convince Hibiscus that he was capable of spending the night unsupervised, obviously, or he wouldn’t be here.  

He didn’t remember what he’d eaten. A young man he didn’t recognize had been cooking. It’d left grease on his fingers, whatever it was, and grease stains on his shirt where he must have wiped his hand at some point. It hadn’t done a good job; his skin felt grimey, hands and arms and face.

Not just his skin; his shirt was filthy with sand and almost stiff with grease and dried sweat. He was going to have to change. He should have changed instead of sitting on the couch for… however long.

Fling had been watching TV with him for a while-- she’d worked the remote, found a cooking show about sushi and watched enraptured, but now it was a show about classic continental pastas and she was asleep.

He patted her gingerly, trying not to leave any residue of grease and general filth on her soft grey fur, and stumbled to his feet.  She woke when he turned the kitchen sink on, giving him a curious little ‘marp?’ sound as he scrubbed his hands.

“Go back to sleep. I’m just getting fresh clothes. I’m going to wash these after I shower, okay, you don’t need to make a statement. ”

She blinked approvingly at him. They’d reached a more diplomatic way of communicating with each other, he thought, but it never hurt to make sure.

“Got to go meet a friend today. Over at Aether House.”

She sat up, ears swiveling forward, and hissed a question.

“...there was just the one palossand. I think.”  

“Mehhh,” she said, and her ears laid back a few degrees.

“I’ll be with Jane. Jane’s sensible. You’d like her. You’ll like her, if you want to come along.” The meowth was being strangely clingy lately-- no, he wasn’t fooling anyone, let alone himself. She wasn’t clingy; she was protective. She’d let him wander off alone once and a ghost had almost eaten him and now she wasn’t going to risk it. Everyone thought he needed looking after.

His mouth quirked up.

He staggered into the bathroom, shed his clothes onto the tile, huddled in the shower and hit the hot water— it wasn’t as comforting as he’d hoped. It sent a twinge of nausea through him, threatened to leave him feeling overheated. He grumbled, adjusted the cold tap, too far, stood in lukewarm water and scrubbed himself with clawed hands and the shrinking bar of the free motel soap.

He stepped out onto his dirty clothes, dripping onto them while he toweled himself off half-heartedly. Here was the exhaustion now, hours too late. Maybe he’d do laundry afterwards.

He set the alarm on the bedside clock, gave himself an hour. Then he blinked and the damn thing was going off and he hurt all over. It'd been a mistake. It'd been a mistake.

"Prrp," one of the meowth said, and smacked him with something light and glossy. Not Fling; a little higher and raspy. "Prrr-up."

"Nn. Chip. Stop. I'm getting up. I'm up." He cracked an eye, snatching at the meowth's improvised weapon; one of the glossy pamphlets from the gift basket that must have gotten knocked out of the trash at ... some point.

Tapus preserve, the room was a shambles and so was he.

The alarm was still going. He reached for where he’d left it-- found a collection of bottle caps, a revive and a sticky piece of candy that he blinked at until he realized the meowth must have left it all for him. Had he knocked the little clock down? It wasn’t very heavy, and he could hear it, somewhere.... down. Under the bed?

“Ugf.” He said, and rolled sideways, got his feet off the bed and went heavy to his hands and knees on the floor, and pressed his cheek against the dusty hardwood to look under the bed.

The glowing numbers of the clock lit up the eyes of C1-Eyeball and threw red light as she turned it back and forth. She was poking and chewing at it in dismay. Must not have  expected her shiny new toy to start making noise.

“Get that out of your mouth,” he growled. She hadn’t realized he was there; she gave a gravelly shriek and burrowed under Ramsay’s shirt. The alarm clock clattered to the floor, and he pulled it out from under the bed by its power cord. He finally silenced the alarm, slumping against the bed in the blissful silence.   

There were suspicious triangular tooth-marks on the clock’s housing, and a piece cracked and missing. Well, he was just going to hope plastic wasn’t too bad for her.

“Just because it’s shiny doesn’t mean it’s food!”

“Sableye!” the dark under the bed retorted.

“This is coming out of my room fee, you know,” he grumbled, and hauled himself to his feet. Once he was there, he stood swaying;  he had seven equally important things he should be doing, and the choice between them seemed impossible.

"Mrow!" Chip said and bounded across the floor to the empty food dishes.

"You were fed this morning."

A chorus of pitiful meows indicated that none of them remembered the incident in question.  Even Fling-- sitting on the dresser with a packet of laundry detergent-- was making wistful eyes at the box of food.

"Fine." Decision made.

The urge to go back to bed wasn't subsiding. His headache was like a knife sliding into his skull and he was a tired idiot.

He sleepwalked through the next few minutes-- food in bowls, him into boxers and a shirt, a glass of water down his parched throat. Wasn’t doing anything well, but he was still on his feet. Maybe this was a step back to normalcy. He'd used to be able to push through exhaustion and come out coherent enough to do a full mission debrief. He used to be able to do a lot of things.

He eyed the laundry pile, the clock, decided against laundry after all. Instead, he went fishing for a pair of pants that were only slightly dirty around the ankles and didn't smell objectionable.

"Eh?" he asked, holding them up for Fling's inspection.  She paused in the middle of eating to give him a long-suffering look and a sigh. "Good enough."

When she was done and he'd forced a little more water and a handful of dry cereal down his throat, he slapped on sunscreen, pocketed the strange stone-- he was getting used to the weight of it-- and went to the dresser where he'd stashed the glass vial with the crystal stinger in it. That he wrapped in a couple layers of bathroom tissue before he putting it very carefully into his shirt pocket. Not something he really wanted near his heart, but-- no, he wanted it next to the strange stone even less. A shudder went through him when he felt the cool glass through the thin fabric and paper; it'd be out of his hands soon, he had to remind himself.

Then he spent a few minutes trying to figure out where he'd put his sandals, before he remembered that they were under a couple feet of sand down at the lagoon.

Well.

Bare feet and dirty pants. At least Aether amthought he was some never-off-the-islands beach bum already. The less notice they paid him, the happier he'd be.

"Ready?"

"Yaw."

He detoured past the main office on his way out, out of the vain hope that they'd have some coffee left over from breakfast-- no such luck-- and then set himself on the main road. He was already starting to sweat, eyes stinging as carelessly applied sunscreen dripped down into them, almost squinted shut at the bright sunlight.

There was a small crowd outside Aether house when he got there-- a decent sized crowd for island standards, actually. He had to fight from actually recoiling. Tapus preserve, a few weeks ago he’d have thought nothing of pushing through a crowd five times that size just to get his coffee order, and here he was, wary about half dozen bright young folk scrubbed up and wearing matching white jumpsuits. Who had to be Aether, all fresh and gleaming like that. He couldn't see Jane-- but he did see Loulu, almost around the side of the building, talking animatedly with a scowling blond in a lab coat.

He squinted. He recognized that bone structure.

"Nanu!" Loulu's face lit up in a smile, giving him a full alola with her arms. "I didn't think we'd see you today. Have you come for the open house?"

Damn. Spotted. He attempted a smile, slumping over resignedly and sketched back a casual greeting with his fingers.

"This is researcher Faba!" she said, waving him toward the pissy-looking blond.

"Junior Research Director Faba," the man corrected crisply.

"I bet you don't know where you've see him before," Loulu said.

He gave her a bemused look, then remembered she'd been off with Kel in another corner of the bar while he'd given Ramsay and Ron his slightly drunken 'how to spot a man in disguise' lecture. Faba had excellent cheekbones, natural blonde hair, and the body-fat percentage of a tree-branch, and the last time Nanu had met him he’d been in Costume, slinking his way through a deeply mediocre lip-synch in the Two Queens.

"Yeah?" He said noncommittally. He took another quick look at the researcher's posture-- arms crossed and gloved hands tucked close to his body away from other people as if having visible pores might be contagious--and thrust his hand just an inch too far into the man's personal space.

"Howzit?" he drawled, hiding his deep satisfaction as Faba flinched away from his hand. There was a soft sound from the vicinity of his shins, the sound of a meowth hiding its amusement in a little cough.

Loulu tutted at her colleague, and turned sparkling eyes on him. "He's not just a junior research director, you know! He's actually a Costume Queen champion. Nanu saw you perform, Faba, he was with me and my friends a few nights ago."

"Did he?" a blond eyebrow went up. "Well. I hope it was gratifying. I do... enjoy my turns as Miss Gothita Lei, although, of course, my real passion is here with the foundation."

"Judges seemed to like it," Nanu said, just neutrally enough to leave the other man wondering if it was sun or shade, and let his arm fall back to his side. "Who would've guessed?"

Besides him. But he didn't want to ruin Loulu's delight at the 'surprise'. She was a sweet kid. Easily awed, but a sweet kid.

"Isn’t that impressive? Oh, hello, who's this little charmer?" Loulu gasped, noticing Fling.

"This here is Fling. She's my partner," he said, and it didn't feel like such a lurch at all. Yes she was; of course she was. Little A1, who’d found an exhausted wreck of a human in a hotel bed and decided to adopt him.

Loulu went to her haunches, cooing as Fling extended a paw to shake her finger.

"Charmer and she knows it. Kolohe," Nanu drawled.

"Aue, not this one," Loulu crooned, rubbing Fling's cheek with a crooked finger. "No pilikia, hey?"

Faba looked alarmed at this display of informality. "Loulu, contain yourself."

Loulu straightened up instantly and looked embarrassed. Nanu restrained a sigh; the man’s ego was big enough; he didn’t need Loulu jumping to attention to help him along. But then again, junior research director was a fairly lofty post for a man who had to be at least five years younger than Nanu; he must be good at impressing people. Other people.

"Fling, you said? What an... interesting name," Faba said, eyeing him up and down, unimpressed in turn. "As you know, of course, a meowth can't learn Fling."

Nanu held his gaze as Fling puttered around innocently at their feet. He'd seen the little blue glint; he knew what was coming.

"You do know that, don't you? I understand that the standards of education here are--" Faba started snidely, leaning in, then pulled back with a dignified little shriek as a plastic bottle cap smacked him between the eyes.

"Oh no!" Loulu gasped.

"Ah, hey you, don't do that. That's a bad meowth," Nanu said sternly. The researcher was feverishly examining his tinted glasses for any scuffs, and Loulu was examining his forehead for dirt, and neither of them saw him wink approvingly at Fling. "C'mere." He lifted her into his arms, where she curled up and looked infinitely smug. "You see? She gets her point across, yeah?"

"Ah, dark types," Faba hissed, shoulders creeping back, chin lifting so that he was looking down his long arched nose at the meowth. He shoved his glasses back onto his face, trying and failing to look unruffled. "How... mischievous."

Nanu couldn't miss the edge of his frustration or the much less professional phrasing he'd obviously been considering.

_Ah, friend. That’s a Grudge you earned from experience. Ghost or psychic? Bet it's psychic. Ohai chose a fairy cosname because he trains steel and it's funny. You chose a psychic cosname because you train psychic and you're a prick._

He heard the door open, behind him and off to the side, the in-and-out patter of feet cut by the muted click of high-heeled shoes on the hard-packed path. He was almost expecting it before he heard it.

"Oh, Naaa-nu! There you _are_ ," a sing-song voice, with the lightest Johtonese accent. "You're late, silly."

'Silly.' Well, that was... new.  He turned slowly, squinting against the light and staring at the vision in white and purple that was mincing over to him.

"Oh, Madam Wicke. You know this... charming man too? How lovely," Faba said, his false cheer strained so tight something was threatening to rupture.

"Uh-HUH! We go way back," Jane said, and captured Nanu's arm in her own, pulling him sharply into her. Fling squirmed up to his shoulder, digging in with her claws. "Aren't you going to say hi, darling?"

"Hi," Nanu said, prompted, trying shake his gaze away from her. Fling was staring, too, hypnotized by her towering hair. That probably wasn’t enough. "Nice... shoes. Never seen you in … those boots… before."

"Oh, these?” She lifted one coyly, peering over her shoulder to peer at the arched gold heel. “I know, white usually isn’t my color--” and neither were heels that high, they weren’t lab safe-- “But for company unity, it’s no trouble," Jane said. "Hi, Loulu, how are you, sweetheart?"

"Oh, I'm great!" Loulu blushed. "I should... go check on the senior director. Bye!"

"Sweet girl," Jane said, bouncing her shoulders and making her sweater roll like the sea as everything under under it resettled.

"She's got a girlfriend," Nanu muttered.

"Oh, I know. Kela's a sweetheart, too. Who also has trouble looking me in the eye." She pitched her voice a little higher, and louder, for Faba's benefit. "Gosh, I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

'Gosh'. She was doing this to get him back for the phone call. She had to be. He forced his slack jaw tighter, kept his teeth together and closed tight on anything he might say. At least he wanted Faba to think he was an idiot.

Faba gave her a rictus smile. "Not. At. All. Please, show your gentleman friend around. I have an important presentation to prepare for you, as you know."

"Ooh! Will do, Junior Research Director." Jane gave Nanu a dainty tug on the elbow, followed by a sustained pull that would have done Ramsay's mudsdale proud. He followed, silent and shaken.

"...does he actually think I’m your--"

"Mmm." Jane chose a secluded corner next to the porch, laying a hand on his arm and giving him a soppy look. "He forgot Miracle Eye so he could learn Kiss Ass," she said, still in her cheerful receptionist voice. “He thinks I have a crush on him. It’s the best thing that’s happened to me in months.”

He leaned hard against the side of the building, retreating into the promise of a shadow, blinking sunscreen and surprise out of his eyes.  He'd had this image of her in his head, unchanged from when they’d worked together. Jane was Jane. And Jane meant tight sprayed-solid curls, dark glasses, lab coat over a long shirt and leggings. A little lipstick when she remembered, or on the rare occasions she and Esperanza had left the lab for anything other than field work. Obviously she was pretending not to be a scientist for the time being but-- this getup she was in, the cat's-eye glasses and the opaque layer of makeup and the heels and the scenic-view-of-the-fertile-mountains cutout capelet--  

He couldn't have been prepared for this.

Fling reached out as if hypnotized for the solid high wave hair and Nanu reached up to push her paw away with equal abstraction.

"Why are you dressed like you’re going for the lead in Secretary Sexpots Five?"

"I'm undercover, Triples. Why are you dressed like a hobo?" she returned, batting her lashes.

"I'm retired."

"You look like you just woke up from a coma. In a gutter. Hah. Retired. I still can't believe it." Something started to give around the perfectly-blended edges of her composure. "Arceus alive, Triples. It's so good to--"

"Yeah," he said, gruffly, and gripped her arm awkwardly. She met him halfway, tucking into his stiff arms and taking one deep breath against him. He laid his boney forearm lightly around her back.

"I didn't think I'd see either of you again. You just-- you left, both of you left, he went undercover and you took a beat again--"

"Thought you didn't want to see us. Wouldn't've blamed you."

"No," she whispered. "You're the only ones who knew her. The rest of Interpol..."

"I'm sorry," he said miserably.

Fling patted Jane's face hesitantly, shooting glances between them as she hovered on his shoulder.

"Long story," he muttered to the pokemon. "Long... long story. This is Jane. Jane, this is Fling. She's picked me as her trainer. For reasons unknown."

"I knew you wouldn’t stay away long." Jane had managed to screw her airy pleasant look back on, straightening out of his arms. "Oh look at you. I can't get over how fancy meowth are in this region. And a dark type. Just like Purr."

Fling chirped a question.

"Purr was one of his old partners,” Jane explained, for context’s sake. “A purrloin-- have you ever met a purrloin? Dark-type felinoid biped, like you,” she added, scratching behind one of Fling’s big gray ears. “Didn't put up with his nonsense. I hope you don't either."

"Mee-hee," Fling chuckled, giving her a slow wink.

"And you're already conspiring against me. Wonderful."

Fling ran her tail under his chin.

"Someone needs to." Jane shook her head, gave him a slightly damp look, and then leaned in for a tighter hug. "Oh, I'm glad you're all right. I'm so glad you're all right--"

Her chest was pressing something into his less padded one, an unforgiving hard object digging against his ribs. He remembered all at once, sucked in a breath and jerked back, fetching up hard against the side of the building, horrified.

"What's wrong?"

"This-- I was attacked the other night, Jane, one of the local ghosts wound up on the beach right here. It was poisoned. One of the nurses at the Pokémon Center got this out of it--"

He pulled out the vial, blocking it from sight with his shoulder, trying not to be conspicuous as he looked for prying eyes.

Jane rolled the vial between her fingers, squinting, and then tugged her glasses a few inches her face to focus in. The light caught the vial and the sliver of crystal inside, scattering pale little shards of rainbow across her face like it was something beautiful and gentle and not awful at all. She recognized it as quickly as he had-- if not quicker. It made her go pale, but she didn’t look surprised, and that was terrifying in and of itself.

"UB-01. Do we know if it's alive?" She tucked the vial into a pocket inside her capelet.

"No idea. I hope it's not. Where the hell did it come from? We didn't leave any unaccounted for."

"We can't talk about this here. We have to-- I can't leave yet, they'll get suspicious." She collected herself. "Now. Get into character as my beach-hobo boyfriend. I'm going to introduce you around and make sure everyone gets the wrong impression when you take me back to your hotel room."

"You've got to be joking."

"Nope!" she said, brightly, infusing the syllable with pure air-headed enthusiasm. "Come on, Nanu!"

And then she giggled.

_Guardian of Abundance, Tapu Bulu, I know you're busy, and I know I really... really screwed it up earlier but please watch over me. I’m not sure how much of this I can handle._

It was as fervent as it was facetious.

A slight wind stirred the trees, threw a few inches of dappled shade over them and cooled his sweating skin. Just a little relief, but it helped immeasurably. He closed his eyes for a second, let himself settle.

"Let me tow you around, introduce you, and then..."  She looked around with a bright smile that disguised the uncertainty in her voice.  "We have to talk somewhere. Maybe not the motel yet. I don't mind them thinking I have bad taste, but I don’t want them to think I’m easy."

"The beach," Nanu said, breathing deep. Ocean, dust, sweet, sweet flowers. "We can walk to the beach where the attack was. Romantic-like."

"You take me the nicest places."

"Remember Mount Coronet," he reminisced, letting her link their elbows and tug him away from the building.

"Where we were trying to take soil samples near the ruins but it was off limits because it was a breeding preserve--"

"And KR had to distract the security guards and he pulled out this... Unovan debutant drag."

"They'd never seen a six foot blonde before. Remember? ‘Oh-emm-AYE, Croakie, isn’t it SO Mysterious Here?’”

Nanu remembered. “‘Oh NO I got lost in that AWFUL forest, I will love you forEVER if you have a MAP?’” he falsettoed, not nearly as convincingly as Wicke. 100KR’s syntax had started to slip after a while-- you could take the boy out of Kalos but you couldn’t take Kalos out of his grammar-- but the disguise had been too enthralling and the guards too starstruck by the bombshell and her croagunk to notice.

“We just walked right past them. He got five phone numbers. He broke _hearts_ in that guard station." Wicke batted her lashes at him-- but her eyes were damp. "We have to stop talking about the old days. I'm a bright happy personal assistant, I don't have baggage and I don't cry."

"Drinks. After all this is over. There’s a cosqueen bar in town," he offered in an undertone. "I can run into you some night. We can talk about... the rest of it."

Everything that wasn't the job. KR. Esperanza. The grudgingly good times.

"Is it the one Faba performs at? He says it's 'tolerable but provincial' so I think I'm really going to like it."

"...You are, but come to think of it, that might be a problem. If a lot of Aether folk wind up there."

"No, it's perfect. I know his schedule. If anyone gets suspicious I'll say I went to watch him but I got the date wrong. "

"Aren't you worried about your job if they think you're too dumb?"

"Absentminded isn't dumb."

"...Yeah, I suppose you would know, you 'found' Esperanza's glasses hooked over her collar often enough for her--" Idiot. Stop. What did she just say. "Sorry."

Jane squeezed his arm, hard, digging her nails in just a little. "Later. After. Make it up to me in fruity drinks. You can show me what this... bustling burb has to offer."

"I'll have you know, Malie City has a population of almost fifty thousand."

"Ooh, I stand corrected."

"You really haven't been onto the islands?"

"Oh, I went to-- um, Heahea, there's an adorable jewelry shop, but I haven't seen much of Ula'ula."

"I could give you a half-assed tour of Malie, show you the Routes. Po town, too, but I hear it's gone downhill."

"...name doesn't ring a bell, where is that?"

He steered her by the elbow, turning her to look up at Lanakila, drawing a line from the east side of the mountain down to the ocean. Fling stood up, putting her forepaws on his head and craning to look too. "You see that road that wraps up the side there?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"It goes up to a meadow and the ruins by the lake. There used to be more meadow, with a palace on it, but someone got the bright idea to build a bunch of houses on most of it."

"Sounds... delightfully suburban. And you want to show me it why?"

"I was born there. Grew up there."

Her eyes widened behind her glasses, and this time it wasn't for character effect. "You--"

"I know, not much of a recommendation."

"Are you joking? Now we _have_ to go. I need to bring back proof you were born and not manifested out of pure spite."

"They say there's nobody left up there now."

"I'm sorry." She was looking at him with pity or something like it, he could feel it against the side of his head while he stared up at Lanakila. He squinted and didn’t say anything sour about who had what to be sorry for, because somewhere under all the pain he could see in her now, she was finding room for him. And whatever she’d done-- melted down her grief and rage, tempered it into someone who could wear those heels and that smile-- it was fragile and pink like clouds in the sunrise, and looked just as likely to blow apart.

"No, it's fine. The island’s like I left it.” He cupped a hand at the beach, tipped it back at Lanakila-- tucked it into his pocket when he saw Jane frown ever so slightly at the horns he’d folded his fingers into at the end. He rapped his knuckles gently against the strange stone, warm from his body heat. “It’s still home."

She shook her head. “That’s-- it’s not the same. Triples, it’s not the same.”

“It’s Alola, though. It’s not like anywhere else, it’s still home. We-- nowhere I’ve been is quite like it.” He saw incomprehension, wondered if he was making sense, if he could find a way to say it that wouldn’t push her away.

Molayne's distraught face flashed into his memory, and it caught him wrong-footed for a second.  No. Sordid history or not, this island was part of Alola. They were an Alolan people. He was Alolan. This island was home the way nowhere else ever would be.

He reached down absently to touch the stone in his thigh-pocket. The Guardian hadn’t given up on them yet.

“Whatever you say,” Jane said pleasantly, which was definitely an ‘I don’t buy it’. “Come on. Chin up. Meet and greet. I need you to look impressed and interested for me.”

She’d pulled it together again, her smile soft and not cynical, her posture soft and not a lab-table bend. Back into ‘Madame Wicke’, and wasn’t it a reversal to suddenly be the civilian, using a name and not a designation or a cover, while someone else did the espionage. He put on the best grimace he could, and let her take him along back into the thick of things.

The door to Aether House opened to noise and a rush of shockingly cold air carrying the mixed perfumes and colognes and sweat of too many bodies. People in formal dress, huddled in little back-to-back groups and filling the room like overlapping pockets of morlull after a rain was phenomenon he'd thought he'd left behind in Unova, but look, a little slice of old times. So was air conditioning, come to think of it.

Claws dug into his shoulder, and Fling hissed at the mass of bodies. He put a hand on Wicke’s arm to stop her, give him a second on the threshold.

“You don’t have to come in.”

“Mehhhh,” Fling said, hackles half-raised.

“Wicke’s got me. She won’t let the suits eat me,” Nanu promised quietly.

Fling glanced between the two of them, and her hackles settled a little. She patted him softly on the head, chirruped reassuringly, and then launched herself gracefully to the ground.

“She’s so loyal,” Wicke said.

It sounded like a question, one he didn’t have the answer for. “She’s good folk. Wish me luck,” he added to the meowth.

She answered with a chuckling purr, eyes lidding and tail curling just so, and that was either a fatalistic ‘good luck’ or a straight ‘better you than me’, he honestly couldn’t tell. She punctuated it with a nod, and then made for the shelter of the bushes to curl up onto a shady patch of grass.

He wished he could.

Wicke took his arm again-- he felt her breathe out, then in-- and pushed them into the crowd, towing him along behind her. The sway of her hips cleared a path, and she just asserted herself into the space as if she barely noticed that they were packed like wishiwashi schooling. It was a skill, he knew that-- hell, he knew how to do it, or used to, whether that had been eroded away from him in the past months was anyone’s guess-- but it was excellently done.

He barely had time to be proud of her, it wasn’t much of a cover but it was more than most people managed, before it crumbled away like dried out rot, leaving him hollow except for fear and something too tired to be anger. At Interpol, for putting... everything. All of this. An entire undercover operation that might run for years, on a civilian with nothing but grief to support her, because they certainly wouldn’t have had time to properly train her. She was doing well, but she had no team, no backup-- no hope of rescue if something went wrong.

And Bulu preserve them, anything could go wrong. She hadn’t been surprised by the nematocyst. There was a UB Symbiont on his island.

In his head, Esperanza screamed.

The static switched on in his brain and a tape for Professional Reconnaissance started stuttering along while he shivered and shuddered in the air conditioning. He locked his face into an expression of content, easy good will and Wicke called cheerful hellos to people, introduced him to a succession of sweating, sunburnt faces and occasionally just their chins. He tried to remember names, faces-- this is what he was fucking trained for, this is what he’d spent the last decade of his life doing, if he couldn’t do this what could he do-- but it was like holding ice.

No one Wicke introduced him to cared; she didn’t even use his name most the time, didn’t introduce him back. No one seemed to think he might be worth remembering. He wasn’t the only curious local here, but he was the worst dressed. The floor was freezing against his bare feet, and he was constantly braced for some stray wingtip shoe to come crushing down as they pushed along-- or worse, a heel as tall as Wicke’s but twice as thin, looking for a toe that might turn out not to be as keen on staying attached to him as he might like.  

A last shove and they broke the perimeter of the crowd; now only his back was jammed up against other humans. What an improvement.

Although, honestly, it was. He was almost pushed flush against the back wall, white and gleaming so brightly it threatened wet paint-- he twisted and slumped into it, making a point of leaning back against it when Wicke squared herself against the side of what was probably usually as a reception desk and was currently doing duty as a bar, and deliberately kept her posture straight and her smile perky.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Push the static out. He didn’t have time for it right now; he couldn’t leave Jane to deal with this alone. He forced his thoughts to settle, forced a smile-- well, half of one, sharp and crooked. “Great party, sugar.”

She gestured beyond him-- a second room, smaller than the wide front area hosting the creme of ecological preservation enthusiasts that had washed in with the tide-- set up as a classroom. The double doors were propped open to the crowd, creating a peaceful, natural and in no way stressful learning environment for the young students within.

“Aether runs classes here for the local children every weekday, but today they have a special guest!” Wicke took his arm, tilting her head as if the sight of a bunch of distracted kids sitting in a circle of desks was something special.

"That's Senior Research Director Harcot," she said in a stage whisper, ignoring the woman behind her that was grumbling about the weaponized hairstyle obstructing her view.

Just going off of context, he decided Harcot must be the one at the blackboard, midway through a lecture about the water cycle.

"Isn't it sweet that he's taking time out of his busy schedule to do outreach for the children?" Wicke said, and Nanu privately translated 'outreach' as 'photo op' with a flavor of 'symbolic gesture.' She rested her hand on his back-- gently, slowly, she remembered what to do around edgy agents, and apparently he wasn’t hiding how much of a damn mess he was very well at all. “You’re shaking,” she whispered. Her hand was so warm.

“Air conditioning,” he mumbled, and peered at the little classroom. He recognized a few of the kids as campground kids, nobody he'd been introduced to, but they'd been underfoot at lunch once or twice. Then there was Plumeria, sitting near the front and taking notes aggressively-- or at least writing aggressively, but the dark patches in her notebook said 'doodle' more than 'notes' to Nanu. She was doing as well as any of the older kids-- all the way up to eleven, maybe?-- at ignoring the crowd watching them. Which wasn't great, but he respected the effort.

Harcot looked just as uncomfortable with the audience, but he was making a game effort-- clearly a passion subject, he was doing his earnest best in the face of the distractions. It made Nanu's spine itch with secondhand discomfort.

"This is great, lil' malasada, but how about that beach?" he muttered in Wicke’s ear, not quite quiet enough to really be discrete, and watched her bite her tongue hard, nose wrinkling.

"Oh, sweety, you say the cutest things," she said leaning in to add, "You're a menace, you bastard," in a sweet little whisper that the listeners behind her wouldn’t quite be able to hear.

"Aw, ku'u ipo, you too," he said, tipping her a wink.

"Do you have one of those big long surfboards?" she wondered aloud as she parted the crowd for them again.

He smirked-- it wasn’t a new joke, he’d been hearing variations on it since before he’d started trying to convince the staff at the Two Queens he was old enough to be there, but it hit him in just the right place, some combination of familiar innuendo and Wicke’s unexpected delivery making it as pink and bubbly as the first time.   

"Do you wax it every day?" she continued, her airy tone barely a Gust away from airhead. And then he recognised her voice as one bad Kalosian accent away from being her ‘mocking KR’ voice and he swallowed his own spit and broke into a coughing fit. Wicke helpfully patted his back and nearly killed him by calling him her 'big strong man' while she did it.

"Dammit, Jane!" he grunted between wheezes.

"You started it," she cooed, opening the door and letting the milling visitors push them out. His bones thawed out as the sun hit him, except for the little pool of cold sweat at the small of his back. Fling chirped from beside him-- he dropped his shoulder and she launched herself up, patting his face to make sure he was all accounted for.

Wicke blew him a kiss and strutted down the stairs, off toward the path to the beach. Was she walking like that on purpose, or was it just the heels? And nobody in Aether seemed to notice how absurd it all was, which was...  inconceivable to him, but people could still surprise him by being more gullible than he gave them credit for.

He trotted after her like the... attentive suitor, Bulu preserve him, he was supposed to be, catching up and linking arms, and they strolled together away from the crowd.

The slightly absent smile fell off her face, and he let the mask of general good will slip, taking a breath of hot salted air. "So."

"So." She waited until there was a hundred yards and a few trees between them and the nearest observer before continuing. "I had a look at Aether's computers. Some real Amnesia user apparently needs to keep their password on a post-it."

The tall grass beside them rustled in the soft breeze, then rustled some more when a wild slowpoke appeared. The waited while it ambled across the path. "There's no weapon like stupid.”

"And she had almost top level access.”

"Of course. It's always the top brass. Grunts practice security hygiene. Remember the time--"

"Don't distract me. Because I'll let you," Wicke said quietly.

"It was that bad, what you found?"

She nodded.

"Tell me."

"They have better equipment than 'Anza and I had. And they were closer. They got much better readings than we did." The wide swing of her hips had diminished to a plod, her body a pendulum without enough grease at the pin. A put on, then. She stopped in the bend of the path, under the shade of the trees, leaning against a sturdy trunk surprisingly readily for someone wearing that much white. "One of the big breaches was a cluster of multiple ones."

"How many'd we miss?" Nanu asked, hooking his thumbs into his beltloops and letting the words go into storage but not processing, because he could feel his feet slipping on a pit trap, half a step from sliding back down into a brain full of cold panic and a voice fed by tape recorder, if he let himself think about what that meant.

"Three. Two accounted for; they didn't survive. One 01, one too badly degraded to get a read on it, I couldn't recognize it, but it was rock too. They landed in the water, too far offshore. Maybe they got caught in the storm, maybe they didn't know the water would hurt them-- "

That tugged at something in the back of Nanu's brain, gone before he could get a bead on it.  That was-- that was something, he knew that was something.

"--but they washed up ashore months ago, and Aether has what's left in cryogenic storage."

"What the hell does Aether want with them?"

"I don't know. But the former president went missing around the same time as the breach, and nobody but nobody is talking to the new hires about it. And in those restricted labs working on this design--” she  gestured with her hands, cupping and twisting. “Triples, I think they're getting ready to try to...battle the Ultra Beasts. Catch them."

"What the hell! And Interpol knows about this?"

"They do. They're not going to do anything about it, because it's such a long shot-- Aether doesn’t have a way to open the breaches themselves and they’re lightyears away from getting their new ball to work, the energy's all wrong. Until there’s a ‘clear and present threat’, I'm just... babysitting." Her scoff encompassed all the meanings thereof.

"But now's when they can put a stop to it, before it gets as bad as Rocket's labs, this is when they have to stop it."

"But that would be smart," Wicke hissed, her even white teeth showing. "And proactive. And that's against Interpol regs."

He looked away. He didn't want to see how deep the scars went, how far down the bottom of that wellspring of wrath was. Fling bumped her charm against his temple and launched herself into a tree, scattering a few murkrow.

"You don't have to do this. Get out of there."

"I can't. I can't, if someone isn't watching, people could get hurt again. I don't want anyone hurt again!" She took a few deep breaths, chest up and down like the tide, and muscled the anger down again. "There was only one Beast unaccounted for, and from what you say, it's accounted for now. Another '01. Somewhere on this island."

"I know exactly where it is." He'd known since he saw the little crystal stinger. "It's on the beach, near what used to be Route 14. Where the ghosts started to go missing."

"You think it has something to do with that-?"

"Maybe."

Something clicked at the back of his head, and he tried not to look too hard at the thought and scare it away.  Think of something else. Let it come, let his mind churn up whatever it needed to churn up. Desk plants. Shining stone. An absol carved in relief.

"It's still alive."

"What makes you--" she started, alarmed.

"It's still alive, the Beast. The seaweed's not a warning, it's _containment_ , the venom is poisoning the beach but something else is keeping it alive. And the plants-- can't hold it forever."

He sounded crazy, where had that come from? He couldn't trace the thought back, the scaffolding that built this nutjob theory had collapsed like a tower of sand, but he was sure of it, deep down.

"How do you know? What do you know?"

"Nothing, I don't know anything," he growled at himself. "I don't know why I know that."

"But that-- this is the other thing, Nanu, there's more I was able to find out.  There is something about these islands that contains the Beasts." She pushed off the tree, eyes alight. "Aether's equipment was more sensitive, did I say--"

"--you said---"

"There were-- proto-breaches. Quasi-breaches. Wormholes that started to open but something stopped them. Aether’s data on them looks like a star map, they just filled the sky for weeks before the incursions that actually made it through. There was-- a counterforce, something closing the rifts. Something kept most of it back, I can’t imagine how bad it would have been if they’d all come through, but something stopped them--"

"Must’ve been the Guardians."

"Huh?” Wicke’s impassioned theorizing tripped and stumbled over his simple declaration.

"The-- you've heard them called the Tapu. The sacred guardians. Bulu. Fini. Koko. Lele.” He tipped his hand at the ground; out to Poni, then closer in to Melemele, closer still to Akala. “They guard the islands, the job description’s in the name."

He just hadn’t been thinking, then. Now, with the question in front of him, he was sure of it.  Of course the Tapu fought the invaders. Everything had fought the invaders. Even the totems had stirred-- he remembered Wela, he remembered those fast, dangerous steel-ish Beasts, pushing through even the local fire pokemon, and then _she_ had come slithering out of the volcano, fire and corrosion, and the Beasts had crumpled like paper in her poisonous mouth.  

The totems, the Tapu, they must be have been exhausted, maybe they still were. Even gods could get tired, up against a threat like Wicke was describing.

And then Wicke tipped her head and gave him an odd look he wasn't sure he'd ever gotten from her before. Oh, she'd never had a problem telling him he was an idiot, but she'd never looked so sorry about it before. She'd never been _polite_ about it.

"Yes, I've read some of the folklore. That's what islanders call the phenomenon?"

_Johto. She's from Johto, it's all folklore to her, and whatsit, Lugia, it never calls lightning down on a baseball diamond because it disagreed with the umpire. Ho-oh doesn’t show up outside motels._

"Yeah. That's what we call. The phenomenon."

"Your face is doing something," she said, with a delicate frown. "You’re having an emotion that isn’t irony. You-- you're serious about this, aren't you?"

"Welcome to Alola, kid."

"Don't call me kid, you drowning-victim fashion disaster. KR can pull off old movie lines. You can't."

"I don't need to convince you now. You're right, all right? The same thing that stopped the other wormholes is what's containing the UB now. Just go with that."

"But I need to research-- I need to understand-- maybe if I tipped off Aether--"

"Wicke." Last name, not first. He needed her attention.

She recoiled from the tone of his voice, the look on his face. "Triples..."

"If you like these people at all, you steer them _away_ from the Tapu. The 'Beasts are a stupid enough hobby."

"What are you saying?"

"I can't-- there's too much you don't understand." He raked a hand down his face, fingertips sliding on sweat. "History lesson later. Once we take care of the UB, I'll explain. Hell, once it's safe, I'll give you a tour of the old Megamart. For now I need you to trust me."

"I... usually do. But I've never heard you talk like this before, you sound--"

"Like a superstitious fool, I know. But this is my island, Jane. Take my intel on faith just for a little while longer. Until we... figure out how to deal with this thing."

"You mean kill it."

"If I meant kill it I'd be down on the beach with a posse of steel types." His lips twisted. "She wanted to save one. She wanted just one not to die. I owe it to her. But I don't know how to _do_ that."

"...I might."

“You’re not going anywhere near that thing!”

"I'm not going to be in danger," she promised. "I just... you know, Aether's not making any headway on their new containment device, but they might. If I helped. I noticed at least two design flaws they're going in circles with."

"How is blowing your cover not 'being in danger'?"

"I won't blow my cover, that's the easy part, honestly. Aether's full of bureaucrats who think they're geniuses. They pick up other people's work like it's an ability. They won't even remember that they got the ideas from me." And she put the face back on, the guileless assistant just suddenly there in front of him, _Wicke Used Camouflage; Wicke Became Bimbo Type._

"...you'd have been amazing in Interpol," he said.

She didn't punch him for it, which was better than he'd expected all things being even. But she was hurt, and she let him see it, and that was worse.

"I hope you've been saving your pension, Triples. Because it's going to take more than a few fancy cocktails before I forget you said that to me."

"It's just you and the meowth. What else am I going to spend money on?"

"New clothes?"

"Come on. Let's go see the crime scene," he said, leaving himself wide open as a gesture of truce.

"Your clothes are a crime scene," she said. Truce accepted. "Now brush off my back. This fabric doesn't take a stain but I know I'm covered in bark."

"Big strong man to the rescue."

Her laughter sounded like it hurt, this time.

She turned her back to him and he swiped the shreds of bark off the fabric in sharp motions-- the capelet was sturdy and water resistant, which made sense on a conservationists' uniform but not on an assistant. They must get the stuff in bulk, or it was part of the whole brand or something.

"And now you've fulfilled the deepest dreams of half the front office staff and you didn't even grab my ass."

He snorted, cocked his head toward the beach, and took his invitation, starting back down the path in front of him. "The tide's been in and out a couple times, we may not find much," he admitted, as they walked. "Just wanted to take a look at the place, see if there was... anything."

"Sure. Maybe if I could find more samples," she said thoughtfully. "I could tell... something about it. Maybe."

"Well, Joy at the PMC has the samples you're going to get. Speaking of which, I didn't exactly come by that bottle you’re holding with her permission."

"Triples!"

"Just... return it to her, tell her I'm a bad man and you told me off, you'll get her on your side."

"I'll need her help anyway," Wicke acknowledged. "I'm a physicist. I picked up a lot of biology from 'Anza but not enough to... do much of anything with, really, just sound smart."

Fling was at the mouth of the path, looking out with her tail lashing; she turned back to the humans and mouthed a silent complaint at them. They'd been too slow or too loud, something.

Nanu slowed, coming up beside her more quietly, pausing where dirt-and-sand gave way to just sand. The beach looked different in the day time; the trees didn't seem to hang in so close, and the surface of the lagoon was screened with reflected sunlight. Fewer pokemon out where they could be seen-- mostly the flying types, wingull walking still-cautiously on the sand and nibbling at things. There was a little girl in a tattered dress sitting on the sand, digging and playing.

That didn't seem right. In his admittedly limited experience with young children, they didn't occur in the wild without a parent nearby. He did a second, more directed sweep, but the beach and the lagoon both were clear of other human life. He looked up the bluff, and saw it, oddly well camouflaged by a curving, jagged-shadowed stand of ferns. It was watching the little girl dig in the sand. "You see that?"

He had to nudge Wicke, who was staring horrified at the little girl. "How did she get out here? She's supposed to be at the house, how did she get past everyone?"

"I don't-- look, above her--"

Wicke saw the absol too, and her shoulders went rigid. "Do you think it's dangerous?"

"No?" he asked, frowning. They weren’t generally. Who was the superstitious one now?

No, all right, it was fair, any wild pokemon could be a danger especially to a kid that small, but.

"No, that one-- it's around, it looks after things, I think, if it's watching her she's all right." He let out a breath. "It wouldn't be letting her play on the sand if it was still dangerous, it's all right."

" _What are you talking about._ "

"I've met it before."

He glanced back up at it and it was looking at them. It met Nanu's gaze, and tipped its horn at the little girl, then at him. He nodded back, stepping out now onto the sand and into the sunlight, his eyes watering immediately.

"And now it wants me to take over babysitting. We've done this before too. Kid's mom isn't a dragon type, is she?"

The joke didn't land. Wicke took a tentative step forward, and then, sure that nothing was about to spring out and eat the kid at the first sudden movement, she headed for the girl at an impressive trot, somehow balancing forward to keep her heels from sinking in the dry sand. He followed, outpaced despite having the advantage of bare feet-- and was he ever missing those sandals now-- Fling silent on all fours a step ahead. The absol balked as Wicke approached, quickly on its feet and backing up.

Nanu raised a hand to it, a hesitant goodbye. It paused and gave another nod, less an imperative human-take-the-child and more an acknowledgement.

Wicke reached the girl, yelled in sudden alarm, and snatched her up. The girl gave a high, startled shriek that Nanu felt in his bones, snatching his attention toward her and Wicke. Fling backed up toward him with her ears flattened back-- an enviable ability-- and when Nanu looked up at the bluff again, the absol was gone.

The little girl was still howling-- her initial bone-shivering teakettle wail had given way to sudden angry tears. Nanu approached Wicke and her armful with the same caution he'd exercise around live explosives.  

"No," Wicke was saying sternly above the racket, her bubbly facade gone. "It's _filthy_ , you can't play with it."

"Play with what--" Nanu looked at the sand where the girl had been been playing; not just sand, the girl had been stooping over a pile of bones and stripped feathers. The wimpod had done their work, now that it was safe: the little bones gleamed. They were half buried, but what he could see was too orderly, too-- wingull shaped-- to be the work of the little scavengers.

"Pumi down," the girl demanded, between sobs, kicking wildly. "Pumi down ‘m not done."

"Triples, help. Talk to her, say something, reason with her."

"You're the one who's good with kids all of a sudden!"

"Gladion's older than her! I can have a conversation with him! Lily mostly sleeps, I don't know what to do with this one!"

“How is this my problem?”

“A random absol said it was.”

She had him there. He approached, hunching defensively when the girl’s fog-coloured, tear-filled eyes fixed on him accusingly.

"Kid, why were you playing with that?" he said hesitantly, poised to retreat if she exploded again.

The little girl’s forehead wrinkled up threateningly. "No!"

Well, she had that concept down pat.

"...were you playing with that?" He pointed at the pile of bones.

"No!"

He and Wicke both looked at her, trying to puzzle that out. Would a kid that young lie? ...probably, humans were precocious about lying. But was she? She was red-faced with her indignance and despair and maybe she didn't think she'd been playing with it after all.

"What were you doing with it?" Nanu tried.

"I made her nice,” she sniffed. "Get nice, anden come bury, anden come ghost."

"...is that Alolan?" the accent must be throwing Wicke off, because Nanu was following all right. The kid's train of thought was mostly sound, for little kid logic.

"No. Just local." Okay. All right. "You made it pretty so it could be buried and turn into a ghost."

A sniffle and an angry nod. “I’m not done!”

"All right. All right. So we just need to finish? How about I do the honours? I can bury it. Then we can … go back."

It wouldn’t last long. He couldn’t bury it deep or anything: the tide would stir it back up if the wimpod didn't, but that was the kind of logic he could sense wasn't going to work on a kid this young.

"Yaw yaw," Fling encouraged, putting on her sweetest air when the girl looked dubious, patting Nanu's leg to indicate he was mostly competent.

"'kay." The kid buried her face in Wicke's chest, which Wicke took with-- horror, but controlled horror. She shifted the girl into one arm, rummaged in the expansive real-estate under her capelet with the other, and pulled out a handkerchief. The girl wriggled, but Wicke resolutely started wiping her face and hands.

Nanu knelt, started to scoop sand over the remains, watching for any suspicious shine in the sand, desperately hoping he wouldn’t anything laying in wait with his flesh first. It seemed fine so far, the sand even and soft and baking hot. His skin prickled, but only because he was expecting it to-- his fingers weren’t going numb.

"So, kid, what brings you out here?" he asked conversationally.

"Too loud and ghosts all scare away," the girl said, muffled as Wicke scrubbed at the mingled fluids on her cheeks.

"Yeah, that'd do it.” ...this must be Plumeria's little classmate, the one who had the thing about ghosts.

"Gone walk and I ate a berry, two berry, this many--" this many was four chubby fingers. "Anden I found her on the sand anden a white growlithe came and push' me over anden--"

"What's a 'awai kauleeth?'" Wicke whispered, squinting.

"A-white-growlithe,” Nanu enunciated. “Keep up."

"Oh-- the absol, they tell me Gladion went through an ‘every quadruped is an eevee’ phase, this must be like that."

"Ssh, listening." The girl was chattering on in great and half-understandable detail.

As far as he could gather the 'white growlithe' had had about Wicke's reaction to the whole situation. It had dragged the kid away from the wingull’s body and growled at her while it checked out the sand. When it decided the sand was safe, it backed off and let her go about her business.

"—Anden the growlithe, it sat on the hill... and it wen time to bury the wing'l. Like momma, psh, psh." The little girl mined a couple solemn handfuls of dirt and nodded at him, explanation complete for the time being.

Wicke was still staring blankly. "I got one word in three."

"She came out here because it was loud and loud noises scare ghosts away. She had a snack from a berry tree and then found the dead wingull.” Nanu translated briefly from islander-to-not for Wicke's benefit. "Then the ‘white growlithe' found her, and it threw a fit because it knew the poisoned palossand had been here.  It kept her away until it had checked out the area and decided it was safe."

"She was playing with a dead pokemon, that's not safe! The bacteria alone--“

"--yeah, and we'll make sure she washes her hands, it's okay. The absol sat down to watch her and she decided to bury the wingull because that's what they did for her mom. You upset her because you stopped her from finishing and she was afraid it couldn't come back as a ghost if it wasn't buried."

"Oh." Wicke's brows drew in, and he watched the facts gathering behind her frown. "Sweetheart, that's not how ghosts--"

"Don't," Nanu cut in desperately. The death talk had gone poorly with a very mature seven year old, he didn't want to rehash it with this tiny being still dripping snot and tears from her brief brush with the universe's inherently unjust nature. "Please. You can explain egg groups and flamebody to her when she's older, okay? Just. Obviously someone told her this is how things work and I don't want her to scream again. I've had enough tiny half-coherent things screaming at me lately."

Fling grumbled at that, and he reached out to scratch behind her ears. She was nothing if not coherent.

Wicke pursed her lips and exhaled. "All right. Okay. You're right, she's had a very hard time and we shouldn't upset her. Poor thing, I didn't think she'd remember her mother. I don't remember anything from that young."

Nanu's turn to frown at her as if she was crazy. "You said you’ve never been to this island, how do you know the kid?"

"Because she's Aether's ward. I practically got a dossier on her when I landed this morning, she's very important. Her father is in the hospital in Malie City and she stays with us and it's very political and apparently quite an honour. He's some kind of-- prince, or something?"

"The monarch's kid?" Didn’t that just figure! Of all the kids to get out underfoot. He wondered if the absol knew that the girl was important-- it seemed pretty tuned in to what humans were doing, for a member of such a shy species.

He scooped the last handful of white sand onto the heap he'd made, rocking back onto his heels. "...This okay?"

"Needsa rock," the girl said, affronted at his amateur mistake.

Fling bounded away towards the rocky border of the beach, rattling around for a second before trotting back on two legs with a little smooth stone, offering it up for the girl's inspection.

"Kay." A regal nod, befitting a monarch's daughter.

Fling thunked it onto the pile.

"Good," the girl said.

Nanu nodded at Fling; they'd apparently done well. "Glad to have your approval, uh... what's your name?"

"’rola." Now that they were off her subject of expertise, she'd retreated into single word answers.

“Acerola,” Wicke supplemented.

"Nanu. It's a pleasure. ...There's nothing to see here, should we take her back?" He looked to the loudest voting member of the group for her signoff. "Can we... go back now? Is that okay?"

"Kay."

"Okay," Wicke sighed, relaxing and shifting the girl up a little more securely onto her hip. "Okay."

"Crisis averted, I guess?"

"I guess. I didn't need all those years on my life, it's fine. They told me she was good at wandering off but I didn't believe it. I mean, I'm impressed, but. I'm used to Gladion. He's always so good," Wicke concluded, bewildered.

Nanu considered what he knew of young children: almost nothing.  His only prior close encounter with a child under the age of five was a toddler he’d met in a backwater town in Kanto.

Not sure how old the kid had been except ‘very young,’ indeterminate gender, mostly visible as a chubby-cheeked face peeking out of the hood of some magikarp footy pajamas. It had gotten out of bed for some water or because it couldn't sleep, and toddled right into a living room standoff between Monstercharm Hanako and Nanu just before Monstercharm could shoot him with his own sidearm.

Monstercharm had gone white as a sheet; she’d made the gun vanish like a magic trick, so quickly and effectively Nanu couldn't see where she’d put it, and snatched her baby up in her arms. Even disarmed she’d glared Nanu down like an angry Nidoqueen, and he’d raised his hands in surrender.  His read on the situation had been changed by a few sudden realizations on such subjects as: 'oh she's _not_ in this podunk town to case the pokemon lab for Rocket'; and 'she's got the local pokemon using thief for her, she had my sidearm and pokeballs in hand before I got within a hundred yards of her house, she doesn’t need a gun to take me if she’s this good with wild pokemon'; and ‘I think she’d kill me with her teeth to protect that kid’; and, most pressingly, 'if KR finds out I went out without telling him just on a hunch and almost got myself shot, he's going to murder me himself.'

All the while the toddler had been babbling cheerfully, yanking on the ponytail of one of the most dangerous women in the region, drooling affectionately on her, and generally conducting itself as if it hadn't just saved Nanu from a deeply embarrassing death and its mother from a murder charge. At one point, while the grownups were negotiating Nanu’s silence and Monstercharm’s continued crime-free retirement, the toddler had gotten bored and thrown its beanbag ultraball toy at him. Got him square in the chest, too: obviously a pokémon master in the making.

The whole thing had added an air of surreality to an already bizarre day and left Nanu deeply wary of small children. They could appear sometimes without warning and did things for unknowable reasons of their own, possibly just to give nearby adults heart attacks? This larval hex-maniac here was only solidifying that impression.

"I think kids just do this,” he hazarded.

"If you say so?"

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“I wan’ juice,” whined Acerola, and maybe this wasn’t the time to hash out comparative childhood behavior.

The information exchange was going to have to wait a half hour or so. It could wait, he thought. He hoped.

“Take her, please, I can’t carry her on sand in these da- in these stupid heels.” Wicke lifted Acerola off her hip and thrust her at him; he accepted automatically, and the girl let him take her. He gingerly supported her in both arms in the way he’d seen kids carried; somewhere between a fragile bag of groceries in the rain and a squirming tangela. Fling watched this uneasily: the little human was encroaching in her spot, and her tail lashed a few times before she settled and decided to allow it.

Acerola was lighter than the gible he’d met in the ruins— lighter, softer-skinned, so much more breakable. He stared at her, overwhelmed by the sudden realization of all the ways the world could hurt her, that he could hurt her, that he could fail her in even this simple walk back to Aether.

“Wan’ juice,” she reminded him firmly.

“Okay,” he said helplessly, and felt Wicke’s hand on his arm again, leading him back toward the path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We commissioned art!
> 
> First, the painful- [Before and After](http://sidhebeingbrand.tumblr.com/post/176681304069/before-and-after-now-with-man-in-twilight) by Bipirate/Gay Prince Sidon ( [commission detes on Tumblr](http://bipirate.tumblr.com/post/171670620629/hey-everyone-im-a-full-time-student-with-no-job))
> 
> Then the pretty! Toby may not have shown up in this chapter but you can see a whole lot of him [in this beautiful pinup](http://sidhebeingbrand.tumblr.com/post/174641412839/surfer-toby-wants-to-battle-pose-battle-that) by BluandOrange ([commision detes on Tumblr](http://bluandorange.tumblr.com/post/174588415055/bluandorange-want-a-pin-up-send-me-an-email-at))


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